Savior Complex
by Child of Loki
Summary: Jeff Clarke can't ignore his instincts when he spots a suspicious man following a young woman out of Molly's bar. Meanwhile, Dr. Sarah Reese is having a hard time maintaining professional lines. (Clarke/Reese) (Rated M for content in final chapter)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Chicago Med or its characters…**

 **Author's Note: I thought I was officially done with writing fan fiction. But that's when it sucks you back in, isn't it? Anyway, Jeff Clarke is one of my favorites from Fire and I honestly wished they used him more in Med. So that's like the perfect recipe for fan fiction inspiration for me; canon not giving me enough of the characters that interest me.**

 **Warning: Contains references to stalking, depression and suicide. From an outside perspective, but still may not be comfortable for some readers.**

* * *

 **SAVIOR COMPLEX**

 **Chapter 1**

The man in the blood red hoodie followed the young woman out of the bar. Oh, there was a pause before he approached the bartender and settled out his tab. And he strolled in a casual manner, not reaching the exit for maybe a full minute behind her. But he _was_ following her.

Alarms were going off in Jeff Clarke's head and gut.

"Dawson." He flagged his former coworker over and told her he was done for the night. The pretty Latina woman studied him with her big brown eyes and frowned.

"You okay?" she asked, taking the cash he offered her and pausing to catch his eyes. Gabriela Dawson was one of those women with a terrifyingly perceptive gaze. "Something wrong, Clarke?"

Maybe he was just being paranoid, anxious because he hadn't used those particular US Marine skills recently and that aggressive part of him wanted to stretch its muscles since he kept it locked down deep all the time now. Then again those sorts of instincts never got rusty.

"Nah. Just ready to hit the sack," he said, giving her a smile that probably didn't reach his eyes. But she seemed to accept his explanation.

"Okay. I'll be back with your change."

"Keep it," he said, gathering up his jacket and giving her a wink. "Tip for the best bartender in town."

Gabriela Dawson had a genuinely pretty smile. But like his own facade on this night, it didn't seem to reach her worried eyes. He didn't stay long enough for her to try to question him again.

The notion that he was perhaps being silly blew away with the cold night air as he stepped out of Molly's bar. It was a city. But a city in the dead of winter at night might as well be the barren arctic tundra. The warmth and merriment in the establishment at his back seemed alien as his instincts took over and sent him to a more primal part of his being.

Which way had Blood Red Hoodie gone? Which way would the young woman have gone?

He glanced down the streets kept empty by the frigid temperatures. And then he closed his eyes and listened. No sounds.

Maybe the eerie silence should've been reassuring. But it wasn't. He turned right and headed towards the nearest bus stop. From what he knew of the young woman, that's where she'd be going to catch a ride home. And his gut was certain that's where Blood Red Hoodie was headed. Because the man had a creepy vibe about him. Not chatting or getting merry with friends, or even drinking alone, absorbing and enjoying the atmosphere. No, he'd been staring at the girl.

Had Jeff been staring, too, to have noticed that the man in the blood red hoodie was staring?

No. He hadn't been noticing her. He'd been noticing the threat. His mother had always said he had the soul of a herding dog, overly vigilant and protective. A quiet type, but highly observant and a little bit territorial.

The bus stop was a light in the distance. A small glass and metal shelter. The young woman bundled in a long, wool jacket. She seemed to be alone and Jeff's shoulders sagged in relief, but the tension didn't leave his insides. And then he realized it was because there was a figure making its way down the street, edging the far side of the sidewalk, keeping to the shadows. The hooded sweatshirt still looked blood red in the wan light, but not the bright arterial crimson, more black like what poured from a punctured liver.

Jeff began to walk faster. Not running, because there still was a self-conscious part of him remaining, wondering if he was being ridiculously paranoid, whether… The man stepped into the light, startling the young woman but she didn't back away or run. She seemed fine... Jeff slowed his pace again to pass by innocuously since everything seemed-

The wind had been at his back but it shifted and carried bits of conversation to him.

"..Come with me..."

"...If you want to see me... appointment… …hospital..."

"...No... Just... Need..."

Blood Red Hoodie, now arterial scarlet in the fluorescent light of the bus shelter, grabbed the young woman's wrist. She tried to yank her hand away and failed. Her eyes were wide with fear, but the only shouts were coming from her attacker. Jeff couldn't discern the words over the pounding of the blood in his ears as he sprinted into the shelter.

And it was all instinct, grabbing the shorter man from behind, wrapping an arm around his neck and getting him into a firm chokehold, lifting him off his feet a couple inches just to enforce the idea of who was in control. Taken by surprise, Blood Red Hoodie immediately released the young woman's wrist and began clawing at the arm compressing his windpipe.

The young woman staggered back a couple steps, looking even more afraid than before. And then she composed herself.

"Put him down, Jeff Clarke," she said. Her tone was a little too confident, as if she'd practiced it. And she recognized him, knew his name. He hadn't expected it, honestly.

"This guy followed you, grabbed you, _Doctor Sarah Reese_ ," he said. She seemed surprised that he knew her name as well. They were really only colleagues in passing, two of an abundance of hospital staff at Chicago Med. "Did he threaten you?"

"Not really, no," she said, a bit of fierceness flashing in her eyes. "Put him down. He's harmless."

Jeff frowned but complied, turning a little to place himself between the young psychiatry resident and the creepy guy before he released him from the chokehold.

"Who is this guy, Sarah?" Blood Red Hoodie asked, rubbing at his neck and gasping, his breath forming white puffs in the cold air. "You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend."

Confused, Jeff looked to the younger woman. Was this some sort of jilted lover? Not that it gave the man any excuse to grab her or frighten her. She cocked her head, looked at Jeff like she'd never really seen him before and then took his arm and stepped in close to his side, returning her attention to the creepy guy.

"I do, Derek," she said/ (And she did, that kid from pathology, what was his name?) She leaned into Jeff a little further. Was he supposed to be playing along? He covered the slender gloved hand resting on his bicep with his own and tried to look affectionate as she continued to dissuade this creep (whoever he was) from - _what?-_ pining for her? "Not that it should make any difference. You're a patient of mine."

"It's more than that, Sarah. You look at me and I know you really understand-"

"That's my job. To help people, to understand when no one else does." Damn, the girl was good. Jeff was a man of few words, always trying to make them count. He'd found that most people who talked a lot didn't tend to focus on the quality of what they said. But this girl, um, young woman, _doctor_ , she seemed to conjure a plethora of words, every one of importance. "But there are other people who can do that for you, too. And given the situation, I think it-"

"No!" This Derek creep surged forward like if he could only get a hold of the young woman, she'd be his.

Jeff gave him a tap in the center of his chest with the side of his fist, making him stumble backward and catch himself on the glass side of the bus shelter.

"You heard the doctor," he said, stepping forward and ignoring the angry tug on his arm. "I'm sure she'll be happy to give you a referral. But-" He took another step, using his height advantage to loom a little. "You're never to follow her, or talk to her outside of a professional setting, or _touch_ her again. Alright, Derek?"

The guy nodded, fear in his eyes, and Jeff felt a little guilty. If the man had been seeing Doctor Reese in a professional capacity, then he was likely not mentally sound. Probably emotionally vulnerable, possibly a victim of some horror or tragedy. Maybe he shouldn't be using intimidation tactics on him. But then he remembered the flash of fear in the young doctor's eyes, the fact that things had gotten physical when she hadn't complied with whatever demands Derek had made.

"Go," he said, not bothering to raise his voice. He never had to. Apparently there was something terrifying in his soft-spoken manner. That had never been a reassuring thought. But sometimes it worked to his benefit. Like now, as the man in the blood red hoodie edged along the glass wall and then bolted through the opening, disappearing into the night.

He turned back to the young woman to, well, comfort her if necessary, to assure her she was safe. But Sarah Reese was glaring at him, obviously trying to keep her composure.

"Do you know the damage you've just done?" Her eyes admonished even if her tone was almost even.

Jeff shook his head in disbelief. "I just stopped a creepy guy from assaulting a young woman."

"Doctor." She corrected him and he wondered if it was meant as a barb, that although a decade or more younger than him, she outranked him in the hospital setting. But they weren't in the hospital. And when it came to real world experience, he frankly had more than the average person. And far more than her.

"I was his doctor. I can't divulge his issues, but this... this likely is causing him a major setback." She began to pace. And Jeff realized she had never meant to insult him. She was thinking of her Hippocratic Oath and how she had just done harm, mental harm, judging by her now anxious behavior. "He'll never trust me again. How am I going to get him in to see someone else. How-"

Jeff gently placed a hand on her shoulder and she turned, looking sheepish for being caught in such an insecure moment.

"I think you should be thinking about calling the cops," he said. "I saw this Derek guy in the bar. He was watching you. He followed you."

"And you followed him," she said, shrugging off his hand that looked so large on her slender shoulder. "Things aren't always how they appear to be."

"Then how are they, Doctor Reese?" She winced.

"Call me Sarah," she said, shifting uncomfortably as studied her face. Was it because he was older than her that she didn't like being addressed by her title? Or was it because they were outside of the hospital? Or because of what had just happened?

"Then you'd better call me Jeff," he said. "But I'm not letting you change the subject so easily. You need to report this to the police."

She shook her head vehemently.

"I appreciate that you were trying to look out for me, Jeff," she said, meeting his eyes with a fierce look in her brown ones. "But I have the situation under control. And I'd really rather keep this incident from giving a confused man a police record."

He couldn't force her to do anything she didn't want to do. That's precisely what he'd stepped in to prevent. Still, he frowned his disapproval and sighed.

"Fine," he said. "At least let me make sure you get home alright."

"I'll be fine," she said. "The bus should be coming any minute."

"Please, Sarah. I'll pay for a cab."

Her brow furrowed and she studied him again, like she had before, as if seeing him for the first time.

"You have a Savior Complex, don't you, Jeff Clarke?"

"I don't know what you mean, Doctor Reese," he said, knowing she was beginning to psycho-analyze him (good luck) and that it was just the hook he needed. He offered her his arm. "But will you let me see you home safely? So I can sleep instead of worrying about you all night?"

She twined her arm around his, her hand resting on his bicep again, and began to ask him questions as he led her back to Molly's bar to order and wait for a cab.

"Have you found that you're attracted to women with emotional issues? Do you like to feel needed in a relationship? Not like normal, but as if your partner couldn't function without you? Do-"

He chuckled in response to most of her questions. But answered enough to keep her distracted. Her questions were actually a little intriguing. But not as interesting as the young doctor with intelligent brown eyes and a professional intensity and just an edge of the nerdy girl next door.

And maybe he did suffer from a compulsion to help others, to save them. It would explain a lot, actually, including why he wouldn't rest easy until he saw Sarah Reese safely pass through her front door.

* * *

 **A/N: Didn't want to spoil it ahead of time, but yes, I also like Sarah Reese. And if you know my writing, one of my favorite things to do is write stories with characters who basically have no relationship whatsoever in canon. As this part stands, just a friendly sort of encounter. But there's definitely more plot in my head, and potentially with a romantic angle.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Thank you to all who followed, favorited and especially took the time to leave a review. It's much appreciated and more than I expected response-wise. XOXO**

 **Because there was no Jeff Clarke whatsoever in last night's episode of Med, and I personally feel ripped off, here's another chapter. ;-)**

* * *

 **SAVIOR COMPLEX**

 **Chapter 2**

Take a breath, count to five. There was no reason to be nervous about this. Her future profession was based entirely on interpersonal interaction. And there was no place for bouts of social anxiety in that. Even though, as Dr. Charles said, being a good psychiatrist was more about listening than talking, being able to speak clearly and concisely was also very important.

And she needed to be clear and concise about this. Because the incident the previous night had her head in an anxiety spiral.

 _You got this, Sarah._

She tugged the lapels of her lab coat in a self-conscious attempt to make herself seem more presentable. She tried not to analyze why she needed to look presentable, put together, _attractive?_ No. Just professional. She was going for professional and confident (because she felt neither after last night's incident).

And then she strode into the Emergency Department. _No, don't stride._ Just walk with confidence... through the part of the hospital that always seemed harried. 'Controlled Chaos' is how Sarah liked to think of it. Because Dr. Choi, and more so the head nurse, Maggie, kept a strict sort of underlying order in their department.

It was particularly hectic at the moment. But she needed to do this now or be plagued by it the rest of her shift (and likely until she did get the confrontation over with).

Where was he? Maybe she should ask… No. She didn't want to interrupt any of the preoccupied nurses, doctors or staff working hard to save lives... Which, well, he might be doing, too. That could be why- No, there he was. Taller than the personnel he weaved around to return to the station, the harsh lights highlighting his striking silver-streaked hair.

Okay. She could do this. Just walk up and- he turned around bumping into her, his solid form knocking her back against a desk.

"Sorry," he said taking a step back, his blue-grey eyes turning from apologetic to amused as he discovered who had bounced off from him. It must happen a lot, given his size and the cramped quarters. But she wasn't going to be thwarted by the incident.

She straightened.

"Jeff Clarke." She'd decided to use his full name. Using only a person's last name had never felt right to her. And she couldn't call him 'Mr. Clarke'. That was even worse. He'd told her to call him Jeff the previous night, but it seemed too personal, especially with keen ears surrounding them. She knew the hospital gossip mill was flourishing. It's how she knew the man was an ex-marine, ex-firefighter, ex-lover of Dr. Manning, who happened to be his best friend's widow. It's how she knew half the nurses wanted to get into his pants. But she supposed she could see why. He was an attractive man with a charming smile (and a savior complex). Not really her type, but-

"Can I do something for you, Dr. Reese?" God, how long had she just been staring at him? His lips twitched as he smiled at her.

"I wanted to make sure you got enough sleep. And to thank you for last night." Had she really just used that wording? She winced, but he chuckled and shook his head.

"You don't have to thank me." His eyes were very warm for being such a cool-grey color. He put his hand on her arm, making her feel simultaneously scrawny and safe as he gave her bicep a gentle squeeze. "It was my pleasure."

And then his large, warm hand was gone and he was turning his attention to a tablet on the counter. Probably a patient's chart and she should really let him get back to his work, but... She stepped in closer, placing her hand on his arm, mirroring his own behavior towards her. His blue-grey eyes found her face again.

"Can we keep..." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "What happened last night just between us."

Again, his lips twitched.

"I'm the soul of discretion." His already soft voice grew even huskier as he leaned in to whisper his reply in her ear. It sent a shiver down her spine. She glanced up to find his expression had sobered. "And you already know what I think you should do."

She nodded, appreciative that he respected her enough to let her make her own decisions and not pressure her any further to file a police report. She gave his forearm a squeeze in thanks before she turned away to make a hasty escape.

Because there was something a little overwhelming about Jeff Clarke's presence. Something she'd brushed off as adrenaline and nerves after Derek surprising her and the ex-soldier's even more surprising intervention. Something she'd have to pick apart and analyze later because she was blushing and noticed a certain woman's eyes on her.

Nothing torrid had happened. She could be friends with whomever she wanted. If Dr. Manning was jealous and territorial about her ex-lover, then that was her issue.

Nevertheless, Sarah avoided making eye contact with the attractive brunette doctor as she left the ED at a calculated pace; not too quickly, not too casual as to appear studied.

...

Jeff smiled to himself as he went to order the labs Doctor Choi had prescribed for their latest patient. Because he'd passed the young psychiatry resident and her mentor consulting with a patient in the ED, had caught her eye and gave her a wink, eliciting a startled fawn response that was adorable as hell.

After having run into her at Molly's the other night and spending a number of hours in her company, he felt he knew Sarah Reese quite well now. Knew that feeling self-conscious afterward, she'd probably picked apart every word she'd said. Well, every word that she could remember saying. She'd gotten quite tipsy. So tipsy, he'd had to escort her home again. This time not just watching her enter her building but all the way to her front door, through her front door to deposit her on her couch with a bottle of water and some aspirin... Which had made him wonder why she'd shown up at the bar two nights in a row, why she'd approached him specifically in the busy place? They were square, understood one another. At least it had seemed that way after she'd checked with him the morning after he'd apparently overstepped bounds and come to her rescue. So offering to buy him a beer to pay off the debt hadn't been necessary.

He'd wondered if she was still worried that he'd tattle on her being stalked. But then she'd just begun to chat with him, small talk at first, and then random things, more serious things, even got most of his life history out of him (a feat few managed). But primarily she'd done most of the talking. A bit of a chatterbox when she got going, but... He hadn't been annoyed. She was a know-it-all, but without condescension. She was actually rather sweet in her wide-eyed eagerness to absorb every bit of information she could. So many questions about his experiences in the Marines, as a firefighter, life in general... Maybe it was her innocent face, her wide-eyed naiveté, or the alcohol, but Jeff had actually found himself sharing instead of deflecting.

"What's going on with you?"

Thankfully, his startle response had been tempered long ago by military training. Still, he had been caught zoning out, hadn't he? He gave the petite brunette a confused look.

"Nothing that I know, Nat," he said. Natalie Manning's lips were set in a smile, but she wasn't smiling. "Why?"

"I don't know..." she feigned indifference, studying the tablet in her hand. "You just seem... different."

Jeff sighed inwardly. He'd heard the gossip in passing. It had exploded the very instant Sarah had approached him in the ED the morning after the incident. Maybe if they'd been closer colleagues, had reason for more regular interactions... Maybe if it wasn't out of the ordinary for her to seek him out for a conversation... Nah, who was he kidding? It wouldn't've made a smidgeon of difference. As far as the Hospital scuttlebutt was concerned, he was spending his nights in the young woman's bed. Or did they have her the one diving in between his sheets?

Not that it mattered. It was ridiculous, and he was fine with ignoring it. But for Natalie to believe such a tale... He honestly didn't know how to respond.

"She makes you happy?"

Whatever happiness he had felt contemplating the amiable, curly-haired psychiatry resident vanished entirely. Maybe hanging out with her did make him happy. Maybe it was refreshing to spend some time with a woman who didn't just want him to help her forget her troubles, to assuage her own needs. Sarah Reese was undeniably quirky, but she didn't throw her baggage at anyone (if she even had any).

"I... You know I only want you to be happy," Natalie said. He'd always felt that way about her, but honestly, he was having a difficult time believing her sincerity with that smile that was more grimace.

And this wasn't the time or place for this. When he still didn't respond, Natalie's smile turned into a pursed lip expression of frustration, and then she sighed before returning to her doctor mode and going off to see to a patient.

Jeff shook his head. God, this place was worse than a firehouse for gossip. And that was saying something. How a woman who knew him so well could just believe rumors and jump to conclusions without... well, she had tried to talk to him... _But jesus, Natalie, what the_ -

One good thing about Chicago Med's Emergency Department, it was never slow, never gave a man too much time to over-think his situation in life. Because here was another critical case coming through the doors, paramedics calling out the stats. Despite the urgency and sobering sight of blood and pain, Jeff exchanged a smile of greeting with Gabriela Dawson as te ambulance girls handed off the gurney with the unconscious man, his wrists thickly bandaged.

"Attempted suicide," Brett, the blonde paramedic had announced before listing off the stats. Dr. Choi was already calling out commands. Normally, Jeff was good at snapping to orders, but he hesitated.

"Clarke, you with me?"

"Uh, yes, prep three units of o-neg," he repeated. "We might want to alert Doctor Reese."

"Why's that?" They parked the gurney next to a bed and began preparing the patient to move him.

"He's one of her patients, I think." More like stalker. Shit. Had Jeff's putting the fear of god into the guy caused him to slice his wrists open?

He shoved the notion aside as Choi gave the count and they transferred the patient to the bed and got down to the messy work of saving his life.

...

Why hadn't she just diffused the situation last week? Why had she just let Jeff Clarke step in with his intimidating male ego?

Okay, that was unfair. She knew that now. He wasn't at all an overbearing alpha male type, but paradoxically he had some of the standard traits. It was strange the way he casually wore his confidence, the way he could switch from quiet, passive observer to the man in charge, asserting control over a situation. He wasn't outwardly aggressive yet seemed to be territorial at his core, protective of those he viewed as being his responsibility... (which appeared to be anyone he deemed in need of help).

And he'd only meant to help, but she shouldn't have let him bully a patient who suffered from depression and suicidal tendencies. And she should've told Dr. Charles what had happened. Because this was all her fault.

"I should've-"

"There's not always signs, Dr. Reese," her mentor said in his calm, soothing voice. There was a hint of sadness to it, only detectable because she'd spent so much time listening to that voice, dissecting his inflection and tone, his professional demeanor. And she well remembered his cautionary tale about getting too close. He'd missed the signs before, too. Or more correctly put, there had been no signs.

Only, "There were definite signs. I messed up. I-"

Dr. Charles patted her arm. "We'll talk about it later. Right now, I think you need to be with your patient."

Sarah chewed her lip and nodded, trying to figure out how to put her game face on. It didn't help that Jeff Clarke picked that moment to come out of the room, tossing his bloody gloves into the disposal as Doctor Choi briefed them on Derek Gavalas' condition. He was stable and expected to make a full recovery. Sarah didn't catch the specifics, she was too busy caught in a silent exchange with her unsolicited knight-in-shining armor.

His steel-colored eyes were quite eloquent.

He didn't think she should ever be in the same room with the patient again, let alone talk to him. The creep was a stalker. She should've filed a police report. She should at least tell her mentor about the situation and heed his advice. She shouldn't go in to see the guy who'd just slit his wrists open on account of her.

She refused to be cowed by the captivating steely gaze.

Because the medical student had no idea that Derek had tried to kill himself because of Sarah, because of the encounter the previous week. And if the troubled young man had been watching her in the bar, following her, then hadn't Jeff Clarke been doing so as well?

"Is he conscious?" she asked, turning her attention to the head of the emergency department.

"He lost a lot of blood and is pretty out of it, but yes, he is conscious," Choi confirmed before being called away.

Sarah swallowed down her nerves and fears and entered the hospital room. Derek's olive skin tone was ashen and he had dark circles under his eyes. They probably would've strapped him down to prevent him from hurting himself further, but it looked as if he were too weak to even lift his bandaged arms. And she supposed that was actually her call to make as the psychiatric consult for the troubled young man, her responsibility to determine whether he was a danger to himself... or others.

But he was awake and somewhat aware, his glassy brown eyes finding her.

"Sarah." His voice was no more than a rasp. He had to be dehydrated after so much blood loss, even though they'd given him transfusions. One bag of o-neg was still hooked up, refilling his veins with blood. "I knew you'd come."

Shit. This wasn't good. She wished that Dr. Charles wasn't giving her a longer leash these days, pushing her out of the nest to fly on her own. Normally, she appreciated the vote of confidence. But if he knew the extent of the situation... It was her own fault for not informing him. But she had to press on now. She had to think of the patient's health.

"How are you feeling, Derek?" she asked, purposefully not touching him.

"Better now that you're here" His fingers flexed and straightened as if he were trying to reach for her. And he was staring at her with disturbing intensity. She looked away, only to find another man staring at her with equal intensity. Only his eyes were a steely blue-grey. His expression was serious; two-parts worry and one part disapproval.

Then, with a shake of his head, Jeff Clarke walked away.

* * *

 **A/N: What are Derek's issues? What will Sarah do about the situation she's gotten into? Can Jeff really just walk away? Stay tuned to find out! ;-)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Again, thanks for taking the time to leave me feedback or just letting me know you're reading. It definitely keeps me motivated ;-) And just because I love you guys (and writing Clarke & Reese), I'll have a new chapter posted every two to three days.**

* * *

 **SAVIOR COMPLEX**

 **Chapter 3**

This was becoming a habit with the young woman. Of course, how could Jeff judge? He'd been at Molly's more nights than not the past week, too. There was no sign of her boyfriend, the lab technician. What was the kid's name? She hadn't talked much about him, either. Maybe they were on the outs... Maybe... Well, what did that matter to him, anyway?

It did make him sad, seeing her sitting alone at the bar, nursing a brightly colored drink that didn't match her current mood in the least. She sat with her gaze fixed on the far wall, looking off into somewhere much farther away, he imagined. Or maybe much closer, inside of herself, analyzing everything she'd done and said over the past week, mulling thoughts over until there was nothing left but pulp.

He sighed, picked up his beer, wound his way through the thickening throng of customers, and took the seat beside hers before someone else could nab it.

"Don't beat yourself up over it, Sarah," he said. "It's not your fault."

"I messed up." She absently rotated her glass of red liquid. "And someone almost died."

She pushed the cranberry and vodka away and buried her face in her hands.

He'd been trying to distance himself from Sarah... especially after Natalie... Because if someone who knew him so well thought there was something potentially inappropriate going on between him and the younger woman, then the gossip was at an extreme level. And yet, even knowing some of those gossipers were present in the bar, he couldn't bring himself to care about the rumors, not when the quirky, usually cheerful young woman seemed so down.

So he only hesitated briefly before placing a hand on her back, hoping it was a welcome comforting gesture and not crossing a line. It just seemed the right thing to do, to reach out to someone who, well, was becoming a friend. Thankfully, her shoulders only sagged, as if his touch had released some of the tension she was feeling.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked. Her brown eyes snapped to his face and her brow furrowed as she studied him.

Okay, so it had sounded a little bit snarky and mocking despite his intentions. Dr. Sarah Reese could be every bit the headshrink, but also appeared every bit just a young woman alone in a bar. So yeah, he'd been reacting to the latter, had since that night, if he were honest.

Apparently, she had received it as a criticism, however, for she stood up and threw some cash on the bar and reached for her coat.

Jeff did the same, and with the crowd (which seemed to have begun packing-in in earnest), found himself standing so close to the younger woman that when he looked down at her, all he could see was her curly hair, wild and free from the bun she usually constrained it to.

Was it the source of the strawberry scent, an aberration to the strong odor of booze filling the bar?

"Excuse me." It wasn't addressed to him but to the crowd, which parted a few inches, enough for the slender woman to try to shoulder through. He followed her through the milieu, which broke near the door, and grabbed her wrist before she could exit.

Confused brown eyes looked at him, and he realized the severe irony in watching and following her and then grabbing her wrist. He released her, unsure why he needed to keep her from just waltzing off insulted and angry with him, unsure why it was so important that she _like_ him, talk to him. Maybe because he felt like she needed rescuing right now. Maybe she was right. Maybe he did have a Savior Complex.

"Please, Sarah," he said, relieved that she was still there. But then again, she was looking at him in that _way_ of hers. She just couldn't turn off the curiosity, despite the fact that she had quite enough of her own troubles on her mind. "I think you need to talk to someone."

"I told Dr. Charles everything," she said, but didn't looked relieved about it. Which was odd. From what Jeff knew of the psychiatrist, he was extremely effective. Not just in a head-shrinky way, but in an actually helping people way. He was a good guy. And he seemed especially fond of Sarah, so Jeff couldn't imagine that the psychiatrist had raked her over the coals.

"Sometimes it's easier to talk to someone we're not close to," he said, hoping his expression was an open one. Again he had to wonder why it was so important to him that she be able to talk to him, _like_ him.

She nodded, but her lips remained firmly pressed into a line. She was still staring at him with her brown eyes, wielding them like a surgeon with a scalpel intent on exploratory surgery. Did she not realize that she was the one who needed a cancer excised?

"Would you like to go somewhere more private?"

"My place or yours?" The words tumbled out of her mouth and her eyes widened before she squeezed them shut and shook her head. "I didn't mean..."

She opened her eyes and seemed relieved to see his smile. "I'd like to tell you about my day, Jeff."

"I'm a good listener," he said, opening the large, ornate wooden door for her. It was the bar's 'interest piece' as Gabriela Dawson liked to call her treasured find. He had to admit, it was a nice door.

...

"Can I get you something to drink?" Sarah asked, standing awkwardly in her kitchen. The cab ride had been silent but not unpleasant. Not that it would've mattered if they'd discussed things in front of the cabby. Their ears tended to be professionally deaf. But, it still had seemed like it had to wait. At least, she hadn't said anything. And he hadn't pressed her to. They'd kept each to their side of the backseat, silently looking out the windows.

"Just some water would be fine," Jeff said, not thirsty but giving her something to do in the hopes that it would make her less nervous. He didn't think that she distrusted him or thought he might try something, but... It was an awkward situation, wasn't it? They were still mostly strangers, even if it sometimes felt like they were good friends. Okay, he felt comfortable around her, at least.

He sat down at her small kitchen table. Maybe seeing he had no intention of going further into her apartment would calm her. Women rightfully got edgy when men they didn't know all that well were in their private space, alone with them. She didn't know what he wanted from her. For all she knew he was just playing nice to get her naked. Which he'd only thought about once or twice since that night at Molly's when she'd gotten all tipsy and bubbly and cute as fuck. (God, he was just a man, even if he had no intention whatsoever to even let her know that he found her attractive; of course he'd looked.)

"Here." She set a glass of water on the table before him and he thanked her, but apparently she wasn't ready to face him yet.

"I'm going to make some tea." She picked up a little red enamel kettle off the stove top and moved to fill it up in the sink returning it to a high flame to heat. "You want some?"

"No, thank you." He took a sip of water however, because his mouth had gone a little dry as he watched her reach up into a high cupboard shelf to retrieve a mug and the tea leaves. She seemed an entirely different creature in jeans and a t-shirt (which road up to reveal a wedge of perfect smooth skin, just above a flash of bright pink underwear).

Her movements were relaxed as she went about preparing her tea to steep, her gestures more loose and natural. He'd noticed the same thing in her the other night when she'd bought him a beer and they'd chatted for hours. Her entire demeanor at the hospital was a carefully studied and constructed image, of confidence and professionalism.

The compassionate, intelligent person she was always remained as far as he'd seen. It just was apparent to him now that she was trying to fit in, find her place at the hospital. Jeff could identify with that. He was having a damned hard time figuring out his place. And it didn't help that Dr. Will Halstead seemed to have some issue with him. If Jeff had to guess it was because of Nat.

Finally, she sat down across from him with her steaming mug of tea. The ceramic sported an image of the original Mr. Spock's face, one eyebrow lifted in paradoxically indifferent curiosity. How appropriate for the young woman. He sat up straighter because it was a small kitchen set and her shins brushed against his long legs crammed beneath the wooden table top.

"So..." he said, watching her sip at the hot liquid, looking at him over the rim of the mug cradled in her hands. "How was your day?"

She smiled and set the mug down. "Awful. I almost lost a patient today due to suicide. Psychiatry rarely has measurable results. But that's an undeniable failure."

"Have you considered it was due to factors outside of your control?" Jeff tried to hold her intelligent (and pained) brown gaze, but it dropped to the contents of her Star Trek mug. "That ultimately, people are responsible for their own decisions?"

"That's a simplistic view of things," she said.

Jeff shrugged. "I'm a simple guy, I guess."

She laughed, shaking her head.

"I don't think that's true at all, Jeff Clarke." Then her surgical gaze appraised him again, as if deciding which was the best approach for dissecting him to see what was inside. "You are... _complex_."

Well, she knew how to get under his skin. He had to break eye contact himself, shifting as if he found the wooden chair uncomfortable. When really, he found the way she could stare him down _-not aggressive but simply with curiosity_ \- unsettling. Usually, he was the one so comfortable in his own skin, the one observing and dissecting. But he had his blind spots, such as his cheating, murdering ex-wife. Only, that had been willful stupidity on his part and not true ignorance.

"We're supposed to be talking about you," he said after he'd given himself a second to reclaim his composure. A girl over a decade his junior shouldn't be able to stare straight through him with eyes as sage and piercing as an one of those old masters in a Kung-Fu movie. She shouldn't be able to control their conversation with such ease.

"Why is this particular patient getting to you?" he asked. There. The flicker of pain and self-doubt in her eyes, in her pretty face.

"I shouldn't be discussing it," she said, shutting down. Damn.

"Have you used any names?" He reached out, touched the wrist of her hand that was curled tightly about her mug of tea. It brought her attention back to him, along with a shy little smile that pretty much stole his heart. "You haven't broken any confidentiality."

"That's splitting hairs, and you know it."

He smiled. "Don't you trust me?"

"I barely know you." Ouch. That hurt more than it should have. He withdrew his hand.

She reached across to curl her fingers into his, surprising him. "But even knowing it's not reasonable, I do trust you."

And that shouldn't please him so very much. What was with this young woman? He really couldn't remember ever caring so much what someone thought of him. Maybe it was that Savior Complex she'd been telling him about the other night. Maybe he felt like she needed his help, his protection. He'd been a firefighter. There'd been plenty of people in need of his help. Only they'd been willing to accept it, asked for it. Sarah, he'd have to win over first.

And it seemed like he was.

"This patient had lost his fiancee, suddenly, horribly." Jeff wondered at how she'd make it as a psychiatrist. There was probably a narrow threshold for how much empathy a therapist could possess. And if she had too much...

"It destroyed him. He had a history of depression prior to the traumatic event and..."

She shook her head as she trailed off.

"I'm no shrink," Jeff said. "But it sounds like he was already in a dark place. Sometimes you just can't reason with someone when they have that darkness in them."

"I can't believe that, that some people are beyond help," she said.

Jeff swallowed down his reply. Why should he burst this young woman's optimistic bubble? Just because he'd been around, had seen how hopeless and helpless people could become, how far down into the darkness they could fall. It had always torn at his heart, still did, but he'd accepted his inability to protect and help everyone. All he could do was try his best and live with it.

Dr. Sarah Reese still existed in a different, better world. "I think he just needed to feel like someone was really hearing him, understanding his feelings... It's easy to become confused."

Jeff tried to keep his voice even, but, "Are you excusing his stalking you?"

"No. No, I'm not," she said. "It was inappropriate. It crossed a line. And Dr. Charles has taken over his care himself, to explain the difference between a therapist and a friend. He was just in a vulnerable place and..."

Jeff kept his mouth shut, only watched her as she tried to convince herself. She met his eyes and slumped, sighing.

"I guess I am excusing it," she said. "But can't you understand where the poor guy's coming from? He's looking forward to coming home to the woman he loves only to find that she's... _gone_."

Jeff had to look away, out her kitchen window. It faced the building next door, providing a spectacular view of stained brick. But all he was seeing was Lisa's face when he asked her about the affair. He'd come home from Iraq but the woman he loved had been gone, a stranger in her place.

"I can understand," he said, avoiding her direct gaze. Her too direct, too piercing gaze. He got up. "I'd better get going."

She frowned at him, standing up as well. "I said something that upset you."

It was a statement. Her brown eyes studied him intently, trying to find the sore spot she'd poked.

He smiled and shook his head, dismissing her concern (and those damned clever eyes of hers)... hoping she'd let the issue drop.

"It's just getting a little late," he said.

"I guess..." Her eyes searched his face, his body language. He felt like a specimen under a microscope. He didn't think he was that interesting or mysterious, but he supposed people had said it took a while for him to truly warm up. And yes, he tended to keep a lot of stuff to himself.

"Good night, Sarah," he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. He'd intended it to throw her off from her attempt to peel him open and examine his heart and soul. Only he found himself knocked a little off kilter, hesitating instead of pulling away after the chaste peck to her soft skin. Because that strawberry scent he'd detected earlier really did belong to her; fresh and sweet. And was it her shampoo? Or perfume? Or lotion? Or the scent of her skin?

He was nose to nose with her. And her brown eyes were no longer scouring, searching, but had apparently found a way in. More than that, she was pouring out a torrent of emotion. She looked like she wanted nothing more than for him to kiss her. But also, nervous and terrified of that desire.

Her shoulders were slender but not fragile beneath his hands. And he wasn't sure if he was holding her back or about to pull her close. He opted for self-control.

He took a step back, putting some distance between them before he released her. As if she would jump him... He was being a fool. The effects of the two beers he'd drunk at Molly's had long since worn off, so he had no real excuse. And he'd better get out of there before he really did do something inexcusable.

"I'll see you at the hospital," he said, before turning and heading for the door. He'd find a cab along the way. He needed some air, some cold air free from the aroma of a strawberry field.

"Good night... Jeff..."

When he turned to close her door behind him, she was standing in the hall, baffled expression on her pretty, young face. Maybe it made him a coward, but it was also the smart thing to do. He closed the door and tried to put Sarah Reese out of his head.

Except, her confidence to him about Derek Gavalas hadn't reassured him in the least. He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket as he descended the front steps of Sarah's building. The hour was in the realm of late, but honestly would only be considered 'getting late' by old ladies. No wonder she'd thought his bolting odd. Okay, it had been odd no matter the excuse.

He found the contact he was looking for in his phone. It rang a few times and Jeff wondered if maybe he was disturbing the guy over something trivial, being a paranoi-

/Halstead./

"Hey, Jay. It's Jeff Clarke. You worked on the case involving my ex-wife a few years back."

/Yeah, Jeff. I remember. How you doing?/

Well, the detective didn't sound annoyed, so it was worth a try, right?

"I'm good. I'm actually working over at Chicago Med now. And I'm concerned about a colleague... Was wondering if you could look into a patient of hers for me…? Off the books?"

* * *

 **A/N: Is Clarke being paranoid or is he right to listen to his instincts? How's Sarah feeling about her unsolicited new friend? More soon… Excitement to come a little later. ;-)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Hope you all are still enjoying this one. Thanks to those of you who take the time to leave me a little feedback or let me know you're reading. :-* More feels this chapter and then some excitement in the next one.**

 **WARNING: This chapter contains references to mature subject matter. ;-) Also, some coarse language.**

* * *

 **SAVIOR COMPLEX**

 **Chapter 4**

What. The. Fuck. Was. That.

What _was_ that?

Sarah Reese nibbled on her thumbnail, holding an arm across her chest as she contemplated her closed apartment door. She had no idea what had just happened. It was hard to say whether she hadn't read enough psychiatry texts or too many. Because she just had no idea what to make of the exchange with Jeff Clarke.

He'd seemed like he'd wanted to be a friend to her, had been almost insistent she tell him what was going on. But as soon as she'd steered the conversation vaguely in his direction, he'd pulled back. Which was fine. He was a reserved type, she could tell. She'd gotten him to open up at the bar a few days ago, but he obviously wasn't in the mood tonight. And she'd apparently struck a nerve (without intending to) because he'd bolted.

Well, he hadn't run off straight away.

First he'd kissed her on the cheek. _On the cheek!_

And looked as if he wanted to do more than that. His steely blue eyes didn't hide as much as he thought. And she might not have all that much experience dating, but she knew when a man wanted to kiss her.

Savior Complex.

It was just that he had White Knight Syndrome. He thought she needed rescuing, from the patient who'd crossed a line, or from what he perceived as an emotional vulnerability or just naive blindness.

But she wasn't blind to the situation. And she wasn't a damsel in distress.

Sarah marched over to her door and threw the deadbolt, resisting the urge to open it instead and scan the hall to see if her over-protective new friend was lingering about. But he wasn't that bad. He wasn't. She knew it.

He was just... _nice._ Good-hearted. Maybe a little territorial.

She went back to the kitchen to clean up, tried not to remember the feel of sitting so cozy with him at the small table as she picked up the glass of water and her mug of tea. The man was too tall for her furniture, his long legs tangling with hers beneath the wooden table top.

She'd never kissed someone that much taller than her, that well built, lean and strong... Would going up on her tip-toes be enough? He'd have to bend down to meet her, _had_ bent down to kiss her cheek and look wistfully at her... They'd both get kinks in their necks if the embrace was lengthy. Or maybe he'd just pick her up altogether. Judging by those biceps of his, he could hold her up for a good, long while... Although, he'd said he'd stopped being a firefighter because of a back injury. So maybe he'd just pick her up and set her on the counter and…

Sarah shook her head, rinsing the used cup and mug and setting them in the sink before she vacated the kitchen that Jeff Clarke was still haunting despite having left.

She just needed to sit down with a book and unwind. Not think about the older man who made her stomach fluttery, whose mysterious layered personality just begged to be picked apart, analyzed, explored, defined, _appreciated_.

Honestly, she'd never met anyone quite like him. Maybe just because she hadn't spent a lot of time around classic hero archetypes. She was a science and book nerd. That had always been her realm. She'd never hung out with a man who'd served in the Marines or been a firefighter, let alone both. He'd done a lot, seen a lot, saved a lot of people in the decade more of life he had on her. More than she felt like she'd ever accomplish in that time.

Maybe she shouldn't just brush off his concern. She was more a fan of facts, but if anyone had reliable instincts, it was probably Jeff Clarke... Who she was done thinking about. Really.

She went for the sci-fi novel she'd been reading, rather than the pile of psychiatry texts, knowing that the dry list of facts wouldn't be enough to distract her. Maybe her analytical side would be happy, but it was her emotions that were wandering too much.

Damn it.

The last name of the author mocked her. She threw _Rendezvous with Rama_ across the living room and put on some mindless television instead.

...

Blue-grey eyes like steel yet warm. So warm, they heated her up inside, deep and low in her belly. Or maybe it was the large, strong hands on her waist, buttocks, thighs, breasts, roaming and rubbing and squeezing. Or the mouth devouring her lips, her neck, her throat, her nipples...

The sensation of being filled. Naked joining. A soft, husky voice whispering sweet nothings to her, stubble rasping at her cheek and neck, love bites and a bruising grip on her hips. Friction building excitement higher and higher, towards ecstasy, edging it, teetering, about to-

Sarah woke with a start and a cry of lamentation. She threw out a hand and silenced the beeping alarm. The world settled in around her and she rolled over burying her face in her pillow and moaning her displeasure.

What. The. Fuck. Was. That.

What _was_ that?

Oh, she knew what it was. Her nipples were taut and there was a tightly coiled sense of frustration low in her belly. Her underwear was damp.

She'd had a damned sex dream about Jeff Clarke.

He'd only kissed her on the cheek and her subconscious was constructing sexual fantasies around him.

She moaned into her pillow again, ashamed and unsatisfied and a little bit angry. She knew there was nothing abnormal about it, psychologically speaking. But she couldn't help feeling guilty. She had a boyfriend. Why didn't she ever have sex dreams about him?

Jeff Clarke wasn't even her type. Tall, strong guys who carried themselves like soldiers, noble warriors who waltzed around rescuing women uninvited, a charming smile to go with flirtatious (sometimes sad) eyes, a constrained but passionate nature, laugh lines in the corners of their eyes, prematurely greying hair that was silver-edged and sexy as hell... That wasn't her type at all.

It wasn't.

Even if his presence made her nerve endings tingle. And he smelled appealing (to some primal part of her). And she wondered what it would feel like to have those nicely formed arms of his wrapped around her.

Ugh. She threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. She had to just accept whatever feelings her body was having without her permission and move on. Because today promised to be a mix of trepidation and anticipation every time she was called for a consult in the Emergency Department.

Not that they hadn't gone the few months he'd been interning there without really interacting until _that night_. So maybe she could just avoid... Hell, who was she kidding? She'd noticed him before. And now, now that she knew he was warm and compassionate and more than a little enigmatic beneath that handsome, well-built exterior...

She wouldn't steal little glances. And she definitely wouldn't _stare_.

She wouldn't find excuses to talk to him or be near him.

She wouldn't.

She pulled her t-shirt over her head and tossed it aside, following it with her underwear. It wasn't a hair-washing day. She had to keep a strict schedule with specific products with her curly-frizzy locks. So she swept her hair up and clipped it securely out of the way before she stepped into the shower.

Nope. Wasn't going to happen. She wouldn't think about Jeff in the shower.

Although... the fragrance in her soap smelled similar to a component in the man's scent. She had no idea what it was, what its source was. And it wasn't the entire olfactory signature of him. She'd remembered thinking how he still smelled like what a firefighter should smell like; his cologne or aftershave or whatever he used accented with a sooty, sweaty scent that was so overwhelmingly male in nature she was surprised a girl didn't get pregnant just breathing it in.

But she wasn't thinking about Jeff Clarke while she showered. That was just asking for another sex dream. Or worse, an actual conscious sexual fantasy.

 _Just rinse off and get out, Sarah._

...

Joey had blown her off for lunch. It wasn't all that uncommon. He liked spending time with her, Sarah knew. But he also liked his own little world, narrow and well-defined. Some days, asking him to leave the lab just wasn't possible.

At least, she hoped it was just one of those days and not because certain rumors had reached his generally oblivious ears. His text that he wouldn't make it to lunch had been clear, concise and devoid of subtext no matter how her worried mind wanted to read into it.

She pushed the limp french fries around their little paper box. It had been a treat to cheer herself up. But they'd been less than satisfying. All grease, no crispiness. Not worth the heart-clogging cholesterol. Why did a hospital cafeteria even serve anything deep fried? Or was that the problem? They weren't deep-fried. Just frozen and reheated in an oven, then tossed under a heat lamp. Still pathetic. They only depressed her further.

"Want to get out of here?"

Sarah started. _Oh, no. No. No. No._

She didn't even have to look up. That voice had pervaded her dreams last night, her all-too-vivid, all-too-explicit dreams. But she couldn't very well ignore the man. As far as he knew, he hadn't done anything offensive. And he hadn't. She couldn't very well blame him for his invasion into her subconscious' fantasies. That was all her own brain's doing, wasn't it?

But whatever invitation he was offering, just _no_.

She looked up, met his steel-blue gaze, warm and friendly and sporting an edge of concern.

"Yes," she said, and then silently cursed herself as she took his hand and stood up. Why did he keep "rescuing her"? Why couldn't she resist the opportunity of being in his company? Why was he offering her his hand like a gentleman handing a lady into a carriage in the 19th century? For god's sake! Why wasn't she pulling her hand away?

No matter the reason, she didn't, and he used it to pull her closer to him, lean down and whisper to her.

"You look like you're in need of a greasy spoon. I know a great one nearby. Best curly fries in the city."

He didn't let go of her hand as they left the cafeteria, tossing the listless fries into the garbage on their way out. And she didn't pull her hand away either.

"I need to get my coat," she said when they reached the hall, but he still didn't release her hand. It was odd, so odd. But she didn't want him to let go, either. There was something so very reassuring, so comforting in the strength and warmth of his fingers curled around hers. Like he was pouring his quiet confidence into her. And given the past week, she needed that more than she wanted to admit.

"Mine's in my locker, too," he said, giving her hand a squeeze and coaxing her along. They walked so close together, that their arms brushed, and she caught him watching her with a content sort of smile as she gave him sidelong glances. She felt like they were teenagers strolling down a high school hallway after just deciding that they were 'going steady'... in the 1950s, apparently. Holding hands. And shy smiles. And feeling like she'd definitely do more than just make out with him if they went to Lookout Point.

It must just be the after-effects of her dreams. They could do weird things to a person's brain and perception of reality. So she should just pull her hand away, out of the firm yet cozy grip, the hand that was somehow still calloused as if the man did manual labor on a daily basis and wasn't a fourth year medical student.

"Sarah?"

Well, that solved her hand-holding dilemma. She jerked her fingers out of Jeff's and took a large side-step to put some space between them.

Joey Thomas looked from her to the tall man beside her standing at what could almost be called 'attention.' Well, maybe 'at ease'. His hands were carefully nowhere near her vicinity.

"What's going on?" Her supposed boyfriend asked. Could she still call him her boyfriend? When she'd been cheating on him? Not physically, not in so many definitions... But it was emotional cheating, wasn't it? But that wasn't a thing when you didn't act on it, right? Only, she'd sort of acted on it. There'd been touching. Just platonic. Just hands. Except Jeff had kissed her on the cheek and then she fantasized about doing so much more to him, _with_ him. She was a terri-

"We were just going to get a bite to eat," Jeff said. How did he sound so calm? Probably because he wasn't caught by his significant other having an emotional affair with a work colleague (bent on being his personal White Knight). "Care to join us, Joey?"

Her eyes snapped from the lab technician to the older med student so fast her retinas probably had suffered whiplash. Was it more surprising that he remembered her (probably now ex-) boyfriend's name, or that he was attempting to smooth over the rough situation with relative ease?

"No," the younger, more awkward man said. "I have some gas chromatography samples running that I need to get back to. I rather finish my work. I only thought Sarah might be upset because she doesn't like to have lunch alone." He turned his attention to her and then back to Jeff. "But since she's found a different companion, I won't have to put my work on hold anymore."

He turned and walked back the way he'd come. Guilt stabbed Sarah in the gut and she clutched her stomach, feeling a little nauseated. And then Jeff was steadying her with one of his ridiculously strong hands on her arm, looking down into her face with concerned eyes and an apologetic smile.

"Are you okay?" he asked, but it was obvious what the real question was; _Did he just break up with you?_

"I'm fine." _I don't know._ "I'm not really hungry anymore."

She shrugged off Jeff Clarke's hand and made a bee-line in the opposite direction, ignoring his worried tone as he called her name. He didn't come after her. Because he must be just as baffled by what happened as she was.

Sarah ducked into the first supply closet she came across, closing the door behind her and putting her back to it, closing her eyes and trying to calm down.

What. The. Fuck. Was. That.

What _was_ that?

That was the strangest five minutes of her entire life. That's what it was. Of course she'd been attracted to guys before, on a physical, emotional and intellectual level. Honestly, her relationship with Joey might have been more based on the fact that he had an odd personality than anything else. And Jeff Clarke... That man was like a giant enigma, catnip to her. But at the same time... She wished he'd never touched her. As soon as he'd made physical contact with her, it stopped being about figuring the man out and... Her response to him was... _strong_.

It was just an attraction. She should be able to deal with that. It was just... Help her, he was just such a _man_. She'd always hated that belittling way women always said they wanted a _man_ and not a _boy_. But now she got it. There was a difference. It was in the way he wanted to protect her but without condescension. It was in the way that he told her his differing opinion but then respected her right to make her own decisions. It was in the way he looked at her, not seeing just the surface, not looking through her, not just wondering what she could do for him, what she could be for him. It was in the way he touched her, not just because he felt she needed placating, not just because he wanted to put his hand on her, but to establish an actual connection.

She was having a hard time remembering why she got together with Joey in the first place. But every word, touch and look she'd exchanged with Jeff Clarke in the past week was vivid in her mind.

Ugh.

What was she doing?

* * *

 **A/N: Jeez, Sarah, what _are_ you doing?! (Two confused smitten idiots! I do like that trope, don't I?)**

 **A/N2: Some exciting stuff coming up soon. Promise! (We just had to get some developing feelings in there first.)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Loving hearing from you guys and what you like or would like to see in this story. Now for the exciting part!**

 **WARNING: This chapter contains scenes of violence (nothing to graphic)…**

* * *

What was he doing?

Jeff had asked himself over and over. And he couldn't figure it out. He was terrible with women. He really was. Not at first. Not in flirting or dating or in bed (as far as he could tell). But the relationship thing... He always thought things were going well and then... and then they weren't. Turned out they never had been. Maybe he was just naive. Maybe he just went all-in and was blind to the fact that the women he loved didn't jump in like he did. But he'd liked Nat for years and years, it was easy to let the love of friendship blossom into more. Only, it hadn't for her.

And that had hurt.

Maybe he wasn't expressive enough, maybe he needed to be more forward with his feelings. Maybe he should just sweep Sarah off her feet. He liked her... a lot. He was feeling... He liked her a hell of a lot. Too much for the short time that they'd been growing closer.

And maybe that was his real problem with women. Maybe he scared them away with his intensity? He only had two modes if he were honest; reserved and impassioned. Once he decided to be open and honest with a woman, he held nothing back. One would think he'd have learned his damned lesson by now, after having his heart broken multiple times. But he couldn't help himself.

He was human. He craved companionship. And women could be so very attractive. Especially when they had clever but empathetic eyes and a good-heart. (And were pretty as well.)

"Where's your girl?"

He hadn't seen her for the rest of the day, had gone to Molly's in the hopes that he'd find her there. But Gabriela Dawson didn't know any of that.

"What are you talking about, Dawson?" She put up a hand in a placating gesture.

"Whoa. No need to bite my head off," It was a slow night, which was bad news for Jeff if he didn't want his wounds picked at. She leaned on the counter, dropping her voice a little. "I take it things didn't work out with her?"

"I honestly don't know what you're talking about." He lied.

"The girl... A doctor at the hospital. I forget her name... Cute." Jeff shook his head, chuckling a little because it was just too much. Gabby was a sweetheart, but she wasn't above gossiping (she was part of Firehouse 51 after all) or that female obsession with meddling in other people's love lives. "Don't play stupid with me, Clarke. I saw you leave with her several times this week. I saw you how you were with her."

"Nothing is going on," he said, taking a swig of his beer and refusing to meet Gabby's narrowed eyes.

"Something's going on alright," she said. "Or else you wouldn't be here nursing the same beer for two hours."

Had he really been moping for that long? Damn.

"I'm being that obvious?" He grimaced.

"Oh, honey, you got it bad," Gabby said, patting his wrist and grinning broadly.

"Nothing happened." He tried denial again, as if it would work the second time. Gabby raised her eyebrows at him. "Nothing _can_ happen. It wouldn't work. We-"

"You listen to me, Jeff Clarke." Her sudden intensity was actually quite terrifying. Gabriela Dawson was a very vibrant and passionate woman who he'd never want to find himself on the wrong side of.

"Don't let what other people do or say, or expect of you, dictate who or when or how you love someone. Don't let the doubts in. You can lose so much precious time that way."

The woman wasn't talking about him so much anymore, he knew. But she had a point. He'd witnessed her and Casey go through years of pining and bad timing and sneaking around and putting things on hold for something as trivial as their careers... If he'd had someone who loved him like that, he wouldn't have hesitated.

Only, Gabby was telling him that he was hesitating, listening to doubts and not his feelings, ignoring his heart.

She straightened, visibly collecting herself and wiping down the already clean bar in front of her.

"Things worked out for you and Casey," Jeff said, earning a radiant smile from the woman.

"Yeah, they did." She absently touched her wedding ring and Jeff was stabbed with an ache of remembrance of Lisa doing the same thing when they were newlyweds, back when he thought love was unwavering, unending. Gabby came back from whatever blissful moment had claimed her. "But take it from me, don't ignore your heart. If you think you might have feelings for this girl, you owe it to yourself and to her to do something about it…"

"Hey, Clarke," The door to the bar had opened, but he'd been so involved in his tête-à-tête with the firefighter-paramedic-bartender that he hadn't noticed Jay Halstead come in. The detective set a file down on the bar beside Jeff's beer and leaned against the counter. "Got that information you requested."

"Can I get you something, Jay?" Gabby asked, and the handsome young detective ordered a beer. The two exchanged a genial smile before Gabby when to get his drink, which made Jeff feel better about the still awkward situation with Natalie. Because the detective and the paramedic had been lovers for a little while there, had both moved on and maintained a genial rapport. They had both eventually found their forever relationship, as far as Jeff could tell. And he couldn't help but he a bit jealous of that.

Surely, Sarah Reese couldn't be that for him? But it didn't matter how he felt about her. Or she him. He still wanted her to be safe. He flipped open the file and began to peruse.

"It took quite a bit of digging," Jay said.

"Gavalas isn't Derek's birth name?" Unease was starting to build quickly in Jeff's gut.

"Nope. Had to change it and move after those restraining orders were filed." Gabby reappeared with the detective's beer, which he accepted with a 'thanks' and took a swig.

"So he has a history of stalking." Jeff was feeling worse by the minute. His uncontrollably protective instincts were threatening to take over.

"Who's a stalker?" Gabby asked.

"I caught this patient of Sarah's following her out of Molly's a couple weeks ago," he said. Her eyebrow twitched and she frowned, as if she'd just realized her assumption that he'd been hooking up with the young doctor had been proven wrong.

"I don't think stalking is the worst of it." Jay's face sobered from his genial smile and he took another swig of beer before he leaned in. The fact that the detective's instincts were also telling him this guy was dangerous didn't help settle Jeff's own worry.

"The second woman to take out a restraining order against this guy..." Jay bit his lip. "She went missing, Clarke."

The stool clattered as Jeff jumped to his feet, fumbling for his wallet to pay Gabby for the drinks while simultaneously fishing the phone from his pocket and calling Sarah Reese. He'd fallen into mission mode, heading straight for the door heedless of his friends calling after him.

Nothing else mattered. Just making sure Sarah Reese was safe.

...

The drive to Sarah's place gave him time to consider the situation more fully. It was extremely likely he was being ridiculous. She had good reason not to answer phone calls from him (and avoid him over the past few days). He'd messed up things with her... uh, boyfriend? Or whatever Joey was to her. More than Jeff was, for certain. Who was he to barge into her life like he had?

Just because his instincts -not just the kind deep in a person's gut, but the kind that seemed to stem from the very marrow of his bones- insisted, _compelled_ him to protect her...

It was primal and territorial and entirely uncalled for... Except for the fact that this former patient of hers was actually dangerous. _Allegedly dangerous_ a lawyer would say, a cop would say. But Jay Halstead had possessed real concerns. And it was perhaps unwise, but Jeff trusted a fellow former-soldier's instincts nearly as much as his own.

Sarah Reese lived on the third floor. And the entire building seemed to be quiet. Just a normal Thursday night. She was probably holed up inside with a psychiatry text and her Spock mug filled with tea, ignoring the calls of the overbearing older man who'd been harassing her with quasi-romantic overtures.

Showing up at her door after she'd ignored his calls was a rather stalker thing to do, as well, wasn't it?

Only, if she told him she didn't want to see him (if he could see she was safe and sound with his own eyes), then he'd leave and never bother her again.

He stopped in front of her door, raised a hand to knock and hesitated.

Blood started pounding in his ears.

The door was closed, but not latched. Not latched because the latch was no longer screwed into the door frame. The jam had splintered around where the metal strike plate had been. He'd seen plenty of forced doors in his time as a firefighter; had kicked in dozens if not hundreds himself.

Something cold and edged with the kind of anger a man needed to survive battles began to pour into his veins. Medically speaking, it was just probably a cocktail of hormones, mostly adrenaline. But the way it made him _feel_ was something that couldn't be put into clinical terms.

He placed a hand on the wooden door and pushed, swinging it gently inward and turning to the side to remain as hidden as possible, glancing into the dark depths of Sarah's apartment.

 _If she was gone... If Derek Whatever-the-hell-his-name-was had taken her..._

But there was music, slow and instrumental and creepy as hell.

Jeff stepped inside, pushing the door closed behind him. The last thing he needed was a nosy neighbor barging in, alerting some creep who possibly had a knife to Sarah's throat. He put his back to the wall, because no one had his six and he didn't have eyes in the back of his head. The slow pace he took down the hallway would've been excruciating if he hadn't been trained to clear rooms with a steady, conscientious approach. There were definitely people inside, further in... the living room perhaps. He could hear faint whispers and movement beneath the music.

The kitchen was empty but he slipped inside, locating a butcher's block on the counter and extracting the carving knife. A wave of anger and disgust surged in his bloodstream. The cozy little kitchen table was set for two, candle burned down nearly to the holder. Nothing weird upon first glance. Except one plate was cleaned, the other with untouched food. And there was remnants of duct tape stuck to one of the chairs.

It was Derek. It had to be. He'd been playing games with Sarah. Which made Jeff want to beat the creep to a bloody pulp, but also meant the stalker wasn't in a rush to... to kill her.

Jeff headed towards the source of the music in the living room. And however furious he thought he'd been before, how uncontrollable that bit of primal bloodlust that resided in every human had felt, it didn't compare to the rage and disgust that practically choked him.

He wasn't _hurting_ the young woman per se.

The creep was dancing with her. Thankfully, caught up too much in his fantasy to notice Jeff slip into the room.

What a sick, twisted bastard. He didn't care about all that psychology bullshit. No amount of medications or therapy could fix this. No way.

Sarah's clothes were lying in a pile to the side of the sofa. But she wasn't naked. In some ways, it was worse than finding her naked in a pervert's arms. Derek had stripped her and dressed her... in a fucking wedding gown. It was satin and lace and a disturbingly perfect fit to her slender figure. He'd even placed a veil on her head. And Jeff knew that Derek had done all of this, not forced her to do it at gunpoint, because Sarah was slumped in her stalker's embrace. He was mostly holding her up, her head listing to the side a little bit. She was murmuring something unintelligible and hadn't yet slipped into full unconsciousness but as far as Jeff could tell was damned close.

"Derek?" Jeff mustered the calmest tone he was currently capable of. Unfortunately, he'd been told before that his soft tone could be just as intimidating as when he yelled. The man dressed in a tuxedo jacket over a t-shirt and jeans started. Jeff didn't know what to say really, that wouldn't set him off. He settled for, "What's going on?"

"We're having a private moment," Derek said, shifting so that Sarah's limp body was between them, revealing the gun he had laid against the small of her back, black and silver against the white satin in the dim light. It was just a little .22 rimfire pistol, but he angled it so that the muzzle was pressed against the middle of Sarah's back. In some ways becoming a doctor had been the worst decision Jeff had ever made. For example, now he knew all the damage that could be done if the psycho shot the young woman pointblank in the spine. Or if it shattered a rib, missed the ribs and bounced around her chest cavity...

"I don't mean to intrude." Jeff shifted the knife a little more, so that not only was it sitting with the blade against his forearm, but the pommel was nestled in his curled fingers, hiding it behind his sleeve. He held up his other hand in a gesture of surrender. "I was just concerned when Sarah didn't return my calls. She's needed at the hospital. It's an emergency. Maybe-"

"You're the one who interrupted us that night. You're the one trying to steal Sarah away from me." Okay, so trying to reason with Derek might not work. "She's mine. You can't have her."

The gun pressed into the white satin and Jeff's heart leapt into his throat. Part of him was almost thankful that the young woman was so out of it. Whatever the creep had drugged her with, Jeff could only hope that she wasn't really aware of what was going on. Then again, she wasn't aware enough to try to reason with this guy. And a psychiatry resident could do a better job than a fourth year medical student, for certain. All Jeff could think to do was,

"That's right," he said. "I'm the one trying to steal her. I'm the one preventing you from being together. Why don't you point that gun at me?"

He got his wish, which probably in hindsight wasn't the best he'd ever made. But at least the pistol was no longer threatening to put a hole in Sarah, to stain that white satin with her blood. He couldn't bear to live with that. Better he got shot than her. Far better.

But she was still in the way, a bride-turned-human-shield.

"That's right, Derek. This is between you and me. Why don't you let Sarah sit down for a minute while we settle this."

Appealing to whatever twisted 'chivalry' the stalker possessed seem to work. Fuck. Who was he kidding? It was territoriality. They weren't two gentleman about to fight a duel over a lady's honor. They were two beasts fighting over a female. But if this jerk wanted to butt heads with him, he'd soon discover Jeff's skull was quite hard.

Derek, for being creepy and crazy, wasn't a complete idiot. He never took his eyes or the muzzle of the gun off from Jeff as he took a step back and deposited Sarah in an unceremonious heap on the sofa. The young woman made a cry of protest, a pathetic moan that tore at Jeff's heart. If Derek had overdosed her on some date-rape drug, Rohypnol or GHB or-

Shit. The guy really was going to shoot him.

Jeff hit the ground behind the coffee table as the gun went off. Something punched him in the hip and he knew it was a bullet. Getting shot fucking sucked. The only thing worse would be getting shot again, which Derek was repositioning to do.

It was generally a combat no-no to let a weapon leave one's hand, so he wasn't really sure why he did it, only that his instincts took over and he threw the carving knife. It actually had pretty good balance, considering. And the old muscle memory from when he was ten years old just kicked right in. Amazing thing, the human brain and body. It hit Derek in the chest, just an inch from the sternum, directly in the right ventricle of the heart if his anatomy was as good as his knife throwing skills apparently still were.

Thank god, Sarah kept her kitchen knives sharpened. Also, he was only about five feet from his target.

The man crumpled instantly, the gun falling to the floor with a thump. Before he keeled over face first, driving the blade deeper with a nasty juicy squelching noise and a tiny little spray of blood as the eleven inch blade poke through the man's back.

No checking for a pulse was necessary. Time of death: the instant the steel severed his heart in two.

Jeff took a moment, just a little moment, to roll onto his back and pant against the pain burning in his hip.

But there was no time to wallow.

"Sarah?" he rolled over onto his stomach, pushed himself up and crawled around the bleeding corpse to the young woman slumped on the sofa. She was unconscious now, her breathing shallow. He tried to rouse her and failed. Cursed aloud. Because the world threatened to go blurry on him as well. And he wasn't going to pass out. He found his cell phone, dialed 911 and balled up his jacket to press against the oozing hole in his hip.

/What's your emergency?/

"I have an OD, stabbing victim and a GSW."

The operator tried to keep him on the phone, but he hung up after giving her the address. He had to make another call just in case he passed out first. Because fuck, that fucking bullet must have lodged itself in the bone, it fucking her so fucking much.

And Sarah was in bad shape. They'd probably have to intubate her in case it was GHB that the asshole used on her. Otherwise she could choke on her own vomit or stop breathing or-

/Halstead./

"Jay, are you still at Molly's?"

/Clarke, is that you?/

"Yeah. Seems I was right to have checked in on Sarah." It suddenly occurred to Jeff that maybe he should've made this call before entering her apartment, but who knows what Dead Derek might've done to her in that time. What might he have already done to her? More than drugging her and dressing her up like a doll and having a goddamned creepy ass fake dinner party, that was… He could've-

/Clarke? Clarke? You with me?/

"Uh, yeah. Might pass out here pretty quick, though. Sarah's been drugged with something. Maybe GHB or Rohypnol. She's unconscious. Her respiration's depressed. I caught Derek, um... He shot me. He's dead."

The detective swore on the other end of the line which was sounding more and more distant. Really? Was he really going to pass out from this? He'd been injured worse. Hell, he hadn't even passed out when he suffered that stress fracture to his L4 vertebrae. But damn, this was almost blinding. He had renewed sympathy and respect for Kelly Severide who'd donated bone marrow without anesthesia.

/I'll send an ambulance. I'm on my way./

Jeff didn't bother to tell the detective that he already called for one. Because, hell, they needed more than one ambulance. He managed to reach for Sarah's hand, her slender, cool hand. He slid his other one over the satin front of her dress and cupped her neck, felt her pulse. The beating of her heart served as permission for him to let go. Not of her, but of consciousness.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, Jeff saved Sarah from the stalker… Now what?**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Still loving hearing from you all, so thank you for leaving me little notes! And now for one of my infamous Hospital Scenes. ;-)**

 **Warning: Some mild coarse language in this chapter.**

* * *

"Hey, Jeff, you got to quit getting shot, buddy."

Ethan Choi's teasing grin was almost cathartic as the ED doctor pulled on his gloves and patted Jeff's shoulder. Even more of a relief, he felt comfortable here, in the hospital; like it was home.

"I believe the last time was your fault, Squid."

"Well, next time we get a patient with a loaded fire arm lodged in his rectum, I'll make _you_ remove it, Grunt."

Jeff laughed and then hissed in pain. Everything was connected in the human body, but you didn't really realize exactly what that meant until you'd been shot in the hip and laughing shook every part of you, jarring the wound with the bullet still inside.

"Fentanyl," Dr. Choi instructed the nurse. She was newer but had a friendly demeanor. Was her name Stephanie?

"No." Jeff grabbed his friend's forearm. "The paramedics already gave me some morphine. And I don't want to lose consciousness again. I want to know how Sa- _Dr. Reese_ is doing."

"Both Will and Natalie are taking care of her." He squeezed Jeff's shoulder. And he didn't look too concerned. But he'd whisked Jeff off to a room to patch him up. He really had no idea how the other patient, one of their own doctors, was doing.

"But if he drugged her with GHB... Her gag reflex could be compromised. They should intubate her. And she needs to be closely monitored. She could suffer seiz-"

"They know all of that. She _will_ be fine." Choi was good at placation without condescension, but Jeff's stomach was still in a knot. "Don't make me sedate you… Med students make worse patients even than doctors."

Jeff tried to calm down, but his heart was racing. And not from the pain or the... _killing someone_. But because it felt like hadn't completed his duty yet, like he had unfinished business, because Sarah might still be in danger. He'd always felt compelled to help others, but he'd never felt so ridiculously protective of anyone before.

What was it about Sarah Reese that made him just want to pull her into his arms and never let her go? There wasn't anything particularly vulnerable about her. True, she was slender and looked even younger than she was (which was already quite a bit younger than him). But there was a fierce intelligence and tenacity in her. And her curious nature implied she possessed an adventurous side that when combined with her soft femininity... _Fuck._ Jeff _wanted_ her. If they were okay, _when_ they were both okay, he was going to let her know that in no uncertain terms. He had to let her know that if she wanted him in any way, shape or form, she could have him. Willingly. For a few hours or a few days, a few weeks, months, years… forever.

Because the thing was, he might have this primal, territorial urge when it came to Sarah, but it was because she'd already somehow claimed part of him. He was drawn to her like she'd somehow stolen a part of his soul. And he needed her to feel complete...

"Well, the bullet didn't move around on you, so that's a good thing," Choi said, interrupting his meandering thoughts. God, he needed to get a grip. The pain medication and shock of being shot must be making him loopy. "Looks like it might be stuck in the periosteum, though."

Jeff blinked and tried to focus his eyes on the X-Ray on display. He was confident enough in Ethan's abilities he would've been fine if the ED doctor just dove in after the stupid .22 slug. But the man was thorough, had done the prelim x-ray just to be safe. And yeah, there the little bastard was, in his hip.

"Is that a fracture?" he asked.

"We'll have to get a CT, but yeah, it looks like a hairline fracture in the illium." Choi gave him a reassuring smile. "Could've been a lot worse. No blood vessels were compromised. And the fracture should heal up on its own once we get the bullet out of there and stitch you up."

Right. It would have to heal up on its own. There was nothing that really could be done for it.

"Hey, doc, how's the hero doing?" Jay Halstead popped into the room, but lingered near the door.

"Idiot might be walking with a limp for a while, but maybe that will finally teach him to jump in front of bullets," Choi said before plunging the forceps into the bullet hole. Jeff clenched his teeth against the wave of pain like he'd been stabbed. But again, the former-Navy doctor was highly skilled at treating GSWs, he yanked the little bastard out with one clean movement, pressing down a wad of gauze to staunch the blood flow.

There was a grimace on the detective's face, one that was beyond just basic sympathy. Jeff would consider it a safe bet the man had first hand experience of getting bullets yanked from his own flesh.

"I'm gonna need that bullet for evidence," Jay said.

Dr. Choi frowned. Shit. Was this going to be an issue? Jeff thought it was a pretty clear case for self-defense, but-

"Just need to make sure the paperwork and everything lines up. Voight's already signed off on the report... that I haven't even had the chance to write up yet." The cop Halstead brother rolled his eyes. The Intelligence Unit was notorious for doing things more by the gut than the book. None more so than their sergeant. But obviously, it worked. Or else he couldn't see the ex-Army Ranger being a member of the unit. "You just focus on healing up."

Choi bagged the bullet and handed it off.

"Hey, Jay." Jeff caught him before he could make his exit. "Thanks. You saved Sarah's life with that information you dug up."

"No, man, that save was all you."

And then the detective was gone and Choi was stitching him up and the world was getting a little hazy. And he was feeling really sleepy... Had they slipped him some opiate anyway? He wouldn't put it past the ED staff, trying to look out for his best interests... But he couldn't fall asleep, not before he knew…

"How's Sarah doing?"

Choi smoothed down the medical tape over the bandage, but Jeff caught the nod he gave Nurse Stephanie before she scurried off.

"Stephanie's going to check and let you know," he said, removing his bloodied gloves and tossing them away so he could lay a hand on Jeff's shoulder. "You're going to have to take it easy until that fracture heals up, but you're going to be fine. I'll see if I can't find you a pair of scrubs to change into... Sorry about the jeans."

They'd cut them up pretty good to get access to the bullet wound. But it wasn't at all what he cared about at the moment. Stephanie was taking way too long. He tried to sit up, but Ethan pushed down on his shoulder, and the shorter man was quite strong. Also, Jeff was fairly certain now that they'd given him a sedative. The sneaky bastards.

"C'mon, Clarke. Give yourself at least a few minutes to recover." Choi was a good guy. And unfortunately, he understood what drove Jeff. "Your mission is complete. Dr. Reese is safe."

"I want to see her... I want..."

His eyes closed despite himself. He trusted Dr. Halstead and Natalie and the rest of the Med staff. Sarah was okay. She would be okay. He could check on her later and…

...

"Sarah? Sarah, can you open your eyes, sweetie?"

It was like suddenly finding herself twenty feet underwater in a dark, murky lake. Water rushing in her ears, everything dim and hazy, and pressing down on her, around her. She swam for the light at the surface.

The light was a beautiful woman's face, smiling, relieved and yet worried.

 _Dr. Manning?_

There was something in her throat. She couldn't speak. She began to panic. And then there were hands grasping hers, small, soft but reassuring, preventing her from yanking the tube out of her mouth and throat.

"You're okay, Sarah. We had to intubate you but I'm going to remove it now. Alright?"

Sarah nodded as much as the apparatus strapped to her face would allow.

"You remember how this works, don't you?" Natalie said with a smile. Sarah could see why she was a pediatric specialist. She was a calming authority figure. Confident and compassionate. People of all ages responded to it. And feeling confused and terrified at the shocking awakening, Sarah was definitely appreciative of the woman's calming effect.

She removed the tube, and it was a crazy sensation. Really, they probably didn't need to prompt the patient to cough, it kind of just reflexively happened. And there was a bright side to this whole insane, anxiety-inducing situation she'd found herself in... Now she knew what it was like first hand to wake up on a breathing tube.

"Wh-" Her voice was an unrecognizable rasp. And then Dr. Manning was holding a straw to her lips, offering her some cool water to parch her raw throat.

"What happened?" Sarah tried again, finding her voice more able.

"We were hoping you might be able to tell us." There was quite a crowd in her little room, including a familiar face that was a little unsettling to find.

"Detective Lindsey?" Dr. Manning stepped back and the petite detective moved closer to Sarah's bed side. Was that Dr. Halstead's brother, the detective, lingering near the door, conversing with Will? And Dr. Charles was at her other side.

"Am I dying or something?" she asked, bewildered over all the people looking grim.

"No. They tell me you'll make a full recovery, Sarah," the female detective said in her husky voice. "But what's the last thing you remember?"

"Um...?" What was the last thing she remembered. "I got done my shift and went home... And..." A little alarm beeped on the monitors as her rate quickened along with her breathing. "I don't know..."

She looked from Detective Lindsey's sympathetic face to Dr. Manning's to Dr. Charles, normally so unreadable but frowning with concern.

"Why can't I remember? Did I have an aneurysm or something? Why won't you tell me what happened?"

Detective Lindsey took her hand, but it was as reassuring as Dr. Manning's bedside manner. "Because we need to hear it in your words, Sarah."

"What? Why?" A flash of terror struck her and her chest suddenly felt tight. The alarm bleeped again.

"Is she okay?" Lindsey looked genuinely concerned. The female doctor gently pushed the detective out of the way to examine Sarah.

"I... Can't... Breathe..."

"It's not physical." Dr. Manning pronounced her verdict.

"She's having a panic attack," Dr. Charles stepped in. "Focus on me Sarah. You're safe. You understand that you're safe here. Just close your eyes and think about the last time you felt calm and content."

She nodded and closed her eyes, trying not to think about the tightness in her chest and the feeling like she was suffocating. Calm and safe. Go someplace calm and safe.

Aftershave that smelled like fresh linen mixing with a sooty-sweaty scent. Strength. Security. Warm, confident hands... Blue-grey eyes and a heart-melting smirk. It wasn't a place. It was a person.

Jeff Clarke.

That moment when the tip of his nose brushed against hers and she thought he was about to kiss her, wanted him to kiss her, _yearned_ for it...

"What's going on here?"

She opened her eyes, her heart skipping a beat for an entirely different reason. To her addled brain, it seemed as if she'd summoned the man with her subconscious.

"Dr. Reese is awake," Dr. Manning said, looking nervous. In fact they all seemed rather nervous at the tall man's appearance... But was he leaning on a crutch?

"And someone was just about to tell me," Jeff said, his steel colored eyes dark and rather intimidating. But his expression softened entirely when it fell on Sarah, and she felt a little bloom of warmth in her belly.

"Yes, of course," his former girlfriend said. "The detectives just had a couple of questions..."

"Uh, we can do this later." Jay Halstead coaxed the female detective out of the room, snagging his brother's sleeve along the way and reducing the crowd in Sarah's room by half.

Natalie cleared her throat. "Physically, she's perfectly fine, Jeff. Still a little dehydrated, but she'll be ready to be discharged in a few hours."

Why was she giving her report to a med student like... like he was the family? Sarah apparently was missing time. What had happened during that period?

"How long was I out of it?" she asked of her mentor, who gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her shoulder.

"Honestly, Sarah, it's been two days."

"T-two days?" He gave her a little nod and she squeezed her eyes shut. She wouldn't have another panic attack. She wouldn't. She opened them.

"I'm going to go do my rounds..." Dr. Charles said, glancing aside at Jeff Clarke still looming at the foot of her bed. "And then we can talk, if you'd like. I know you're confused right now, Sarah. But you _are_ safe. And maybe Jeff can fill in some gaps for you."

Sarah nodded, reached for her mentor's hand and squeezed it. "Thank you."

"I'll be back soon." He patted her hand with his other one, and whispered something to Jeff on the way out... Something that sobered the man and made Sarah curious as hell. But there was far bigger mysteries making her feel completely insane.

After the room had cleared out, Jeff shifted, readjusting the crutch under his left arm, making her feel guilty. She scooched over and patted the mattress beside her.

"You should sit down." He beamed at her. He had a genuinely beautiful smile that lit up his entire face.

"Thanks," he said, setting the crutch aside and reaching for her hand. "You feeling okay?"

"I'm feeling confused," she said. "What happened to you? What happened to me?"

The obvious joy faded from his eyes and his lips pressed into a grim line. He chewed his bottom lip and sighed.

"Derek was stalking you. I asked Jay Halstead to look into him, and... I went to your apartment. He'd drugged you and..."

Ugh. She felt sick to her stomach. And that terror edging in again. But she could do this. She could. Especially with his warm hand pouring his strength into her.

"Wh-what did he do to me?"

"He.. um..."

Oh, god. She squeezed her eyes shut, tried to do an internal inventory. Did she feel...Would she feel... it?

"No, Sarah. No. It wasn't like that. At least, I caught him before he could..." His grip was tightening on her hand, but she didn't complain. She was afraid of what would happen if he let her go. "He'd dressed you up in a wedding gown and was dancing with you."

A flash of memory struck her, but it was fleeting, gone as soon as it had come, leaving only a sense of fear and helplessness in its wake.

She took a shaky breath.

"Are you okay?" The amount of concern in his steel blue eyes was nearly as overwhelming as finding out she had no memory, that she had been drugged and possibly assaulted.

"Yes."

But she wasn't okay. She really, really wasn't okay. Someone had violated her home and her person and she couldn't even remember. And if it hadn't been for Jeff-

Suddenly, she was being pulled into his arms. And -oh, god- the rest of him was just as strong and warm as his hands. It was like being enveloped in... Comfort and Security... He smelled so good. And felt so good. The anxiety melted away, was even replaced with a little twinge of something close to desire. Okay. It was desire. Desire to be wrapped up in him forever.

She snaked her arms beneath his, around his middle, and he pulled her further into his embrace until she was almost in his lap. His five o'clock shadow rasped against her smooth cheek. It was an interesting sensation and she turned into it testing the feel of the stubble against her lips. It tickled and tingled and she couldn't help herself, she turned the touch into a kiss, followed it with several others down his neck. He made a noise, part growl and part moan, stifled in his throat and chest. His hand was large and so warm on her back. And his fingers started to knead her back.

His response was more than encouraging and before she could even think about what she was doing, she was sucking and nipping at his neck. She'd just been unconscious for two days with a ventilator tube stuck down her throat because some mentally disturbed patient had roofied her and she couldn't remember any of it and the world was out of control, out of her control, but she didn't care. She didn't care because Jeff Clarke made sense. He was comfort and certainty and _contentment_. He was her safe place.

And he might just be her _bliss_ as well.

She moaned her displeasure when he gently eased her away, disentangling the IV tubing that had wound around them during their embrace and tucking her back in. The disappointment had to be apparent on her face, but how the man felt about what had just happened was decidedly not.

"I'm sorry," she said, taking his hand and trying to get him to look at her. When he did, she was honestly relieved (and a little bit frightened) by the look of raw need in his eyes.

"Please, don't be sorry for that, Sarah." His voice was soft and low and just a little bit husky, and it did things to her insides that seemed quite inappropriate for a woman lying in a hospital bed. He fixed the blanket to cover her and leaned in, kissing her forehead. "I'll take you home when you're discharged, if you want."

"I'd like that," she said, blushing a little. A wince of pain fleeted across his face as he straightened again, and she realized he had never told her what happened to him. "Can you drive? Why do you need the crutch?"

He pulled the mobility aid to him and got to his feet with a little hiss, seeming like he wasn't going to answer.

"Jeff...?"

"I got shot... _Again_ , as Dr. Choi likes to point out." He gave her a wry smile which only slightly mitigated her distress over the news. She sat up, ready to get out of bed and... what? He'd obviously already been taken care of... But she felt an instinctive need to take care of him herself. To really _take care_ of him.

"Derek?" she asked, her voice small. He nodded, his expression sobered. What the hell had happened? She just... "I don't remember anything."

"I know," he said. "That's not necessarily a bad thing."

She frowned. Was he insane? It was driving her crazy. She felt stupid and anxious because there was a hole in her memory, in her _life_. The situation had been so outside of her control, it was unimaginable. That was the worst part. She had been totally helpless.

If it hadn't been for Jeff and his damned White Knight Syndrome... She supposed that was derogatory, as she watched her personal hero hobble away, injured because of her. In psychiatry Savior Complex or White Knight Syndrome was a term for a dysfunctional sort of personality, one that sought a highly dependent partner, emotionally and otherwise. And Jeff didn't really seem that type. He was protective, yes, but not controlling.

If things between them were headed in the direction she thought they were... She just might be able to figure him out first hand.

Sarah slumped back into the bed, trying to ignore the heat flooding her face and the rest of her skin, trying to think of something besides the man making her feel uncommonly warm. The only problem was somehow he'd become her safe place, the thought that calmed her.

Damn. She was so screwed.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, admitting their feelings to themselves is a start…**

 **A/N2: Question… Would you like some Clarke/Reese smut? Or would you be happy without a love scene and just T-rating conclusion?**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Apologies for the delay. Life stuff. Also, I didn't think I had written enough for another chapter, but when I finally hit a stopping point it was the size of two chapters, so I've broken it up to shsaying t's a bunch more feels (they're still trying to figure it out), and building to some sexual tension ;-) ;-)**

 **WARNING: Brief Coarse Language in this chapter.**

* * *

Climbing three flights of stairs with a two-day old bullet wound to the hip probably wasn't the wisest thing Jeff had ever done. But he needed to be sure... It was just unacceptable to drop Sarah off in front of her building and not know she was settled in safe and sound.

He sighed in relief when he saw the door. Gabriela Dawson was amazing. She said she'd take care of cleaning up Sarah's place, had recruited her husband to fix the frame and replace the lock. She'd given Jeff the new set of keys when she'd stopped by the hospital to check in on the still unconscious Sarah. (Well, more to check on her old colleague than the doctor she barely knew, he suspected.)

He unlocked the door and held it open for Sarah, frowning when she hesitated, her brown eyes gone wide. Her expression became determined, however, and she went inside. Her hand shook as she reached for the light switch. And he wasn't sure if he should touch her or not; if it would reassure her or make things worse.

Her steps slowed, faltered, stopped as she passed the kitchen. He could hear her breathing become more rapid and then there was no wondering whether he should touch her or not. It was awkward, but he managed to catch her slender form with one arm wrapped about her middle, pulling her into him and stumbling back against the wall, discarding the crutch to the ground with a clatter. His hip wasn't especially happy. But it hadn't been since he'd been shot.

And Sarah was trembling all over.

She felt so slim and small when he wrapped his arms completely around her and held her close. Her breathing was alarmingly stressed; she was hyperventilating. Another panic attack. She must be remembering something. The apartment was steeped in the lost memories buried deep in her brain.

Idiot. He should've know it might be a trigger for her. She hadn't remotely begun to recover. Dr. Charles had asked him to take care of her. Some job he was doing of that.

"Sarah, it's okay. I've got you. You're safe."

She was still shaking. "I... Can't... Breathe."

This was going to suck, but she was distraught and he'd do anything, absolutely anything it took to ease her suffering. So this was nothing, really.

He scooped her up ignoring the sharpening ache in his hip, and carried her back out into the hall. It was much more difficult to set her down than to pick her up, mostly because she'd put her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. He opted to just sit down with her, putting his back to the wall and holding her in his lap as the trembling of her body waned and her breathing evened out.

He kissed the top of her head and the side of her face, stroked her back, unsure what else he could say besides telling her that she was safe now. After a very long couple of minutes, the grip she had on his shirt relaxed and she tried to pull away from him. He refused to let her go altogether, just loosened his hold and stared into her troubled brown eyes.

"I'm okay now," she said, touching the hand he still had on her shoulder. "Really."

"Did you remember something?" he asked.

"Just a feeling... I might not ever remember details." Her skin was still uncommonly pale, so he didn't press the matter.

"As I see it, you have two options," he said, releasing her so she could get back on her feet. The curiosity returned to her eyes and it relieved him immensely. She still looked tired, with dark circles under her eyes. And pale. But some of her natural vibrancy had returned.

"Oh really?" she asked, and then rushed to help him as he struggled to get up. Fuck, bullet wounds and hip fractures hurt like a son of a bitch. Now he was the one short on breath. And she was the one holding him, her arms snaked about his middle, her chin dug into his sternum when she looked up at him. And fuck, she was so beautiful. Emotionally and physically weary, she was still so very pretty.

"Yup." He continued on his original train of thought. Because if they weren't going to discuss her panic attack right now, then they could ignore his gimp-ness, too. "I can check you into a hotel somewhere safe. Or you can stay at my place."

She seemed to suddenly realize that she was pressed up against him and dropped her hands from his back, stepping away. She chewed her lip, not quite meeting his eyes, apparently deep in thought.

"I want to be with you." She closed her eyes, shook her head, wincing at her wording. Her flustered adorableness made him want to tease her. But she'd been through enough. She opened her eyes, daring him to say something before she tried again. "I don't want to be alone."

"Understandable." Now it was his turn to feel uncomfortable. He swiped a hand over the back of his head. "Do you want me to... um... pack you a bag?"

Sarah's eyes slid to her apartment, the door still open, the hall light on and yet, Jeff had to admit there was a certain ominous air about the place. But that could just be because his own memories of Sarah's apartment now included seeing her used in a twisted fantasy of a mentally disturbed individual... and killing a man. Oh yeah, and getting shot.

Okay, he better not dwell, or he wouldn't be able to go in, either.

"No. I can do this," she said, taking a step toward the open door, the little color she'd regained in her cheeks draining away again. He reached out and touched her shoulder, gently halting her.

"You should know better than most that sometimes we can't control how we feel." She stared into him in that penetrating, analytical way of hers. Was it obvious in his own eyes that he couldn't control how he felt about her?

She nodded. "There's a small suitcase in my bedroom closet..."

She proceeded to give him a verbal list of items she needed and he was positive he was going to forget most of them, but it was better than subjecting her to a panic attack again. He could barely withstand being in her apartment himself. Even though whoever Dawson got to clean up the 'crime scene' had done a really good job, walking through the living room still put Jeff on edge, the hair on the nape of his neck prickling.

Leaving his crutch in the hall where he'd dropped it, he hastily located Sarah's bedroom and the little suitcase in her closet, setting it open on her neatly made bed. Damn - did he have clean sheets to change out for her at his place? Well, she hadn't said... She might choose the hotel option, but that seemed silly if she was asking him to stay near her anyway, they might as well bunk down in his apartment, where he knew it was secure- _Oh, fuck him!_

Of course the first dresser drawer he'd opened was her underwear. It was like a forbidden treasure chest; probably cursed and he'd die a horribly death if he stuck his hand in there. Except, he had permission...

A variety of brightly colored forbidden objects teased him; cotton panties, black silky things... was that red lace? No- No, he definitely didn't see that thong.

It was just clothing. It was just clothing...

...

This man was very nearly too good to be true. Nope. Not 'nearly.' He _was_ too good to be true. It was all in her head. She'd suffered a traumatic event and he'd been the one to comfort her, to rescue her. So it was probably just transference. She was smitten, maybe blinded by her gratitude and affection for him.

But still... Jeff Clarke was just what she needed, everything she needed. He took care of her without coddling, listened without pressuring her. He'd suggested a cup of tea after he'd given her a quick tour of his apartment, but only pointed out where the supplies were and then disappeared to 'turn down the bed for her'.

Did he know that she found the act of making a cup of tea as cathartic as (if not more than) drinking it?

He seemed to intuitively know so much about her, what she needed, what she was feeling (even when she was trying to hide it).

His home was very much as she'd expected it to be. Simple and neat, but not spartan. As she sipped her tea, she wandered about his living room, studying the framed photos on a shelf (mostly men and women in military garb or firefighter gear), the books (mostly medical texts and a few classic mysteries).

It felt sort of surreal. Two weeks ago, she barely knew the man. And now here she was, in his home, after he'd saved her from the clutches of a severely disturbed patient. He still hadn't told her everything... but she'd get it out of him. One way or another.

And that was the other thing, something she was desperately trying to get a hold on and tamp down. She was attracted to him, in a fierce kind of way she hadn't really experienced before. It was something like a teenage crush, only with a much sharper sexual edge.

But it wasn't going to happen.

For so many reasons, it wasn't.

She sat down on his couch, which she couldn't picture him stretched out on. It seemed far too short to accommodate his long, lean form. She would try to argue the point with him again, that she should be the one to sleep on the sofa. Unless he wanted to share his bed with her...

 _Stop it, Sarah_.

The man was limping for god's sake, had taken a bullet... for her.

Wait, no. That wasn't the reason she couldn't fantasize about that nicely built, tall and strong body entwined with hers. There were so many more important reasons, primarily being that she was in the post-traumatic stage of wanting to feel alive but feeling sort of numb and like she was floating, disconnected from the world. And god, the quiet confidence of the man was a welcome anchor. His touch grounded her (while also making her insides fluttery for different reasons).

And that was another very important reason why she shouldn't lose her head. She didn't precisely know where her head was at, how she truly felt about him. It was all very confusing. And her emotions were out of control. Panic attacks, lost time, fleeting intense terror, ethereal flashes of memory, pangs of lust and the base need for human contact.

In short, she was a mess. He didn't deserve to have to deal with that. Or is that what he liked about her...? Hopefully not. Hopefully-

"Bedroom's all yours." She jumped a little as his voice cut through her thoughts despite it's soft, smooth timbre.

She set her mug of tea down. "Maybe I should take the couch."

"No," he said. "That would be bad manners. My mother would be absolutely mortified if she ever found out. You take the bed."

She studied him for a moment as he leaned against the door frame, arms casually crossed but not closed off at all. His eyes were gently, still edged with a hint of concern. But he was smirking in that _way_ of his.

"I'll even tuck you in if you want." If she hadn't gotten to know the man, that he had a facetious side, she would've been blushing, wondering if he knew what she'd been thinking about when he'd interrupted her. "Come on. You need some rest."

"I was just in a medically induced coma for two days," she said. "Don't you think I've had enough 'rest'?"

"Then why do you look like you might pass out at any moment?" Sarah sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I'm not going to win this argument, am I?" she asked, meeting his steel colored yes again. His smirk broadened into a smile.

"Nope."

...

Jeff sunk down onto the sofa, wincing at the pain in his hip. The prescription painkillers were in the kitchen, but it was too far and he wasn't in _that_ much pain, anyway. Also, he stupidly felt tethered to his closed bedroom door, like a pathetic, needy guard dog.

He tried not to think of Sarah changing in his bedroom, what that slender, feminine body of hers looked like beneath those hospital scrubs, whether she was wearing the twin to those red lace panties he'd seen in her dresser drawer.

Wait. She probably wasn't wearing anything at all under the borrowed pair of scrubs. The clothing she'd been wearing, that the creep had dressed her in, it had all been confiscated by the police as evidence, Jeff's blood smearing the front of the dress where he'd touched her, the train soaked in the dead man's blood that had been pooling on the floor... Which he oddly couldn't make himself to regret. Even though (thank god), it had only been the man's blood on the clothing and her body and (Dead) Derek hadn't gotten around to truly violating her.

He shoved the sickening thought away, about how much worse Sarah could've been harmed. It was bad enough an emotional and mental wound as it was. Fuck, how he just wanted to make it better, wanted to hold her tight and kiss her and...

No. She was in a vulnerable place. The last thing she needed was for him to be laying his own conflicted desires on her. Poor girl. _Woman_. She was a _woman_. A naked woman in his bedroom...

He laid his head back and closed his eyes and tried not to _want_ her so very badly. It was just a reaction to the whole ordeal; facing down a crazy person, taking out the threat, helping a young woman he'd started to care about. In a way he'd even claimed her as his by doing so, marking her as under his protection.

He _was_ a damned guard dog; would willingly lay down his life for her, would be elated for the briefest sign of affection from her.

Okay, so it was a flaw of his. Sarah had been right. He had a Savior Complex. He'd been willing to take the fall for a murder to protect his ex-wife who'd stopped loving him and betrayed him at every turn. He'd thrown himself all-in with Natalie because he could sense that's what she needed after losing her Jeff. Like she'd said, there'd been a void in her life. And he'd filled it for her. But it hadn't been the lasting, real kind of love.

And this was just another instance of his compulsion to be a White Knight for every woman he was remotely attracted to... Wasn't it?

Well, that would explain wanting to hold her and comfort her, but as for the growing desire to kiss every inch of her naked body... Well, that was more than just from wanting to 'save' her, wasn't it?

If he were that guard dog, his ears would've pricked up (and his tail probably would've started wagging) because his bedroom door opened with a creak and revealed the young woman who had him so stirred up, so messed up, inside. She was wearing a large t-shirt that came down to her bare thighs, her figure an enticing elusive shape beneath. Her curly hair wasn't constrained at all and it was amazing; wild and bouncy. From what he'd learned about Sarah over the past couple of weeks, she was likely very much the same as her hair. Pulled back and contained at work, a little looser in a casual public setting, but when at home... she was beautiful and he imagined quite wild (something had to drive that curiosity he found in her brown eyes).

"Do you need to get ready for bed?" she asked, stepping out of the bedroom. Well, he was already wearing scrub pants and a t-shirt. He'd been wearing scrubs the past couple of days, despite not being on shift. Because jeans put undue pressure on his tender bullet wound. So, no technically, he didn't need to change... He frowned. She looked like a frightened rabbit.

"No. I'm good." He watched her face, trying to figure out what was wrong. Because something was obviously unsettling her. Despite obviously practicing a schooled expression for her work in psychiatry, the young woman's face was often like glass (at least to him). Maybe a bit hazy, but he could quite easily see the general tenor of her feelings, if not her specific thoughts.

And it looked like she was arguing with herself and, oh, had come to a decision. (He'd also learned over the past couple of weeks that it was easier to let her come around in her own time, rather than trying to push her.)

"Is it okay if I leave the door open?"

"What?" He was too bemused to swallow his shocked response. Now she looked like a frightened rabbit the split-second before it bolted.

Only she held her ground, saying in a small voice, "You make me feel safe. I need to know you're nearby."

He felt a little delighted flutter in his stomach. Idiot.

"In case I have another panic attack," she said, making him feel even more stupid. Why would she like him at all but for the fact that he'd rescued her? He was quite a bit older than her with a failed marriage (and any other number of bad relationships) behind him. Nothing about his history said he was a good romantic prospect, or the settling down type. He was up to three major career changes in his adult life. He had no kids and wasn't close to his family. And he was currently coveting a pretty young woman. He was a stereotypical 40 year old man, wasn't he?

Only, that wasn't who he was. At least, not how he thought of himself. And she hadn't ever treated him like a ridiculous annoyance. She looked at him with respect and he thought even a hint of affection. But mostly _need_ , a need for his protection.

"Anything you need, Sarah," he said, and she smiled wearily before disappearing back into his bedroom. He tried to stretch out on the sofa, realized that he really did need to get a larger one as he was forced to curl up on his right side to fit. He tried not to think of the young woman, so soft and smelling of strawberries, sleeping in his bed.

 _Go to sleep, Jeff._

* * *

 **A/N: One more chapter of Jeff & Sarah trying to sort out their developing feelings and then some smut/resolution. Hope you all are still enjoying it, despite their refusal to just get together already! (What's the saying? The thrill is in the chase?)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Again, thanks to all who favorited, followed and especially those who took the time to leave me a review. (You guys are awesome and I appreciate your support!)**

 **Warning: Vague references to mature subject matter (nothing explicit at this point). Also, possible mild coarse language (I don't tend to censor myself when playing like this).**

 **Now onto some more Clarke/Reese feels…**

* * *

Jeff awoke with a start, his body jerking and the bullet wound stabbing him in the hip. Instinctively throwing an arm out, he caught the back of the couch and prevented himself from tumbling to the floor. He must have been in a deep sleep, so what had awakened him... Oh.

Sounds from his bedroom. _Sarah_. His heart rate quickened as he struggled to get to his feet and dashed through the dark apartment (okay, _limped_ ).

She sounded as if she was in distress, struggling with someone. But she was alone in his bed, tossing about and whimpering. He'd put it at partway between a nightmare and an outright night terror. Burning buildings, illness and injuries, combat... Jeff knew how to deal with those things and rarely, if ever, hesitated. But this... What was the proper thing to do?

Ironically, it was something Sarah would be able to tell him, if she weren't the one suffering from the borderline night terror.

He clicked on the bedside lamp, flooding the room with the soft light and waited, watching. Her face was still contorted with distress, her brow furrowed and her lips pressed into a thin line. She whimpered again and turned her head away from the light. But she didn't wake up.

Okay, then.

He eased himself down to sit on the bed beside her distressed sleeping form and lightly rested a hand on her shoulder. She twitched. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and whispered her name. She whimpered, her eyes shifting rapidly beneath her eyelids.

Damn it.

He shook her and said her name more loudly. Her whole body jerked and her eyes shot open as she gasped sharply, her back arching off the bed.

"You're okay, Sarah," he said, trying not to be freaked out by her startling awakening. She was breathing heavily but seemed to calm when her dark eyes settled on his face. "You were having a nightmare."

"I don't remember." She wet her lips. "Just that feeling of terror and helplessness."

"I'll leave the light on." He gave her a reassuring smile and tried to leave but her hand caught his wrist.

"Stay with me." Her brown eyes were imploring. "Sleep beside me. _Please_."

Jeff could only nod, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He went around and got in the other side of the bed, leaving Sarah in the soft light. He thought about being a gentleman and just sleeping on top of the covers, but... Instinctively, he knew she wanted him close, and she instantly turned and snuggled up to him.

"Is this... Um, is this okay?" she whispered as she slipped a hand over his stomach and pressed herself against his side. Obviously, the poor thing was feeling vulnerable, needy and insecure.

"It's fine," he draped an arm over her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. "Get some sleep."

She felt so good cuddled against him, warm and soft in his bed.

...

Warmth. Heat. Almost unbearable. Sweat was beginning to bead on her skin, dampening her oversize cotton t-shirt so that it clung to her body. Sarah blinked against the soft lamp light that Jeff Clarke had left on to protect her dreams. Although, it was a task he'd taken on himself, apparently.

She'd been the one that had snuggled up to his side before she'd fallen asleep, but they'd shifted in the night a bit, and he was currently wrapped about her like a heavy woolen blanket. And just as warm as one, too.

He must run hot, but the heat she was feeling was also probably because all sorts of parts of him were coming in contact with all sorts of parts of hers as he spooned her quite efficiently with his larger body.

His knee had wedged itself between hers, the cheaper cotton-blend of his scrub pants a little coarse against her bare legs. One large hand was splayed over her stomach. The other was, well, cupping her left breast. Not aggressively, just sort of absently as he slept, his breathing steady against her hair.

It was actually _very_ obvious he was attracted to her. Well, at least his body was.

And maybe that's why there was an intense heat flaring deep and low in her belly and warming her skin so that she'd begun to sweat a little.

Because it was _very_ obvious she was attracted to him. Well, at least her body was.

Her head, however... She had no idea where that was at. So she should really try to untangle herself from the warm, solid, attentive, overprotective, quietly confident, sweet, charming man.

But he was sleeping so peacefully... And felt so _fucking_ good.

Sarah sighed and tried to guide his hands away from her body but his grip tightened on her and he made a low growl of protest. Shit. She hadn't meant to wake him, because now this whole scenario was all kinds of awkward. As soon as he realized that-

His hands jerked suddenly away from her and the wall of fire behind her disappeared as he rolled onto his back. She froze, her heart racing. Had he been alarmed to find himself spooning her? Had he liked it?

"Sarah...? You awake?"

She groaned herself, rolling over and putting some more space between them.

"How could I not be awake? Sleeping next to you is like being in a sauna." She opted for teasing, because it seemed to be part of his nature once he was comfortable with a person. And she wanted him to feel comfortable with her.

"Sorry." He chuckled softly and then whipped the blankets off from them. A gust of cold air washed over her, cooling her skin. "Better?"

"Yes." A tense silence fell between them as they avoided discussing the intimate position they'd woken in. Not _bad_ tense, but definitely filled with a humming sort of _tension._

"You're still a firefighter inside, aren't you?"

His silence wasn't uncomfortable as much contemplative, but it had been rather a random question.

"I mean, your first instinct his to protect others," she said, wondering if she was pushing it too far, but remembering how he'd opened up to her before under her relentless barrage of random questions and insatiable curiosity. He hadn't seemed to mind it then despite his usually reserved demeanor. "You give off a lot of body heat. And you smell sort of sooty and sweaty. It's like you've been in so many fires that they're a part of you now."

"Really?" She thought for a moment she might have really alienated him with her rambling observations of his person, but when he spoke, there was an amused lightness in his voice. "No one's ever told me I smelled so offensive before."

Before she could stop herself, she reached out blindly to swat him in the arm, eliciting a mock cry of pain from the man.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." He snagged her wrist and intertwined his fingers with hers. Why did he seem to like to hold her hand so much? Not that she was unappreciative of the contact. It was rather calming, made all her worries and doubts and anxieties melt away. "So... Do you miss it? Being a firefighter?"

He shrugged where he lay beside her. "I guess. Was getting too old to run into burning buildings anyway..."

"You're not old." Hell, if she'd ever seen a man in his prime, it was Jeff Clarke. Except, it was an injury that had ended his firefighter career. "What happened, when you hurt your back? If you don't mind me asking?"

"If you don't mind if I ask you something in return."

Well, that was an interesting proposition. What could he possibly ask her, something he was obviously hesitant to ask her if he prefaced it by trying to get her permission.

"Okay." She turned onto her side to study what she could see of his face in the dim lamplight. "Tell me what happened."

"Nothing extraordinary, really," he said. "We train hard and study fires. But sometimes things just happen beyond anyone's control. There was a flashover. My options were to jump out a third story window or get fried."

"You had a three-story fall?!" She squeezed his hand tighter, as if she could catch him, as if she could ease that past pain. "That must have been excruciating."

Jeff shrugged again. "I was lucky. Just a stress fracture to the L4 vertebrae. Not enough to permanently cripple me. But enough to keep me off the job."

"Better safe than sorry," she said. Once fractured, it would be a weak point. And a weak point in a man's spine was quite contraindicative to grueling and dangerous labor. Also, he never would've applied to medical school, never would've been on rotation at Chicago Med, never would've been there to save her ass from an unstable patient. They might never have met.

"It worked out okay," he said, bringing her hand up to press his lips to her knuckles in a brief display of affection before releasing her. Blood rushed to her cheeks and she flopped back onto her back, hoping to hide her blush.

She studied the shadows cast on the ceiling from the lamplight as a silence settled between them once more. It had been a long time since she'd laid in bed in the middle of the night talking to a friend.

"So..." she said after awhile, tamping her voice to nearly a whisper in case he had dozed off. "You had a question for me?"

"Uh, yeah." He shifted, the mattress shaking with the movement. "There were flowers when I went to pick you up to be discharged. They weren't there when I'd left you a few hours earlier."

Oh, fuck her. She closed her eyes and took a breath. "Is there a question in that?"

"Who gave them to you? And why did you leave them behind?"

She pushed herself up into a sitting position, tugging her sleep shirt down to cover her thighs as she looked down at him, catching his eyes that were all steel grey in the dim light.

"I think you know who gave them to me."

He wet his lips, obviously made a little uncomfortable but his gaze never wavered from hers.

"Joey," he said. Not a question. He knew.

"As for why I left them behind..." Was she really going to do this? There was a flash of anticipation and need in his eyes as she leaned down over him. She was crazy to do it, but _god_ how she wanted to, wanted _him_. "I think you know why, Jeff."

She touched her lips to his, the faintest brush that made them tingle, just a teasing taste to-

His hands, so strong and warm found the nape of her neck and the small of her back and pulled her into a real, searing sort of kiss. It quickly became open-mouthed, a little sloppy and desperate… and dizzying. And utterly intoxicating. And oh, god, let it never, ever stop.

He pulled her tight to him and rolled them over so he was on top. Except, he immediately flopped onto his back beside her with a strangled whimper of pain.

Damn. How stupid was she? He'd been shot not three days ago. He was in no condition to...

"Your hip?" she asked. He was lying rigid on the bed, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Yeah," he said, breathless (from either the pain or the kissing... maybe both).

"Can I get you some pain meds or something?" She placed a hand on his chest, stroked his cheek with the other, coaxing him to open his captivating steel-colored eyes. It felt good to be the one taking care of him for once.

"I'll be okay. Just forgot to take it easy." He gave her a smile. "I was a little distracted."

Sarah blushed. "Sorry."

"Stop apologizing for kissing me," he said. "You're going to give me a complex."

She laughed lightly, relieved but still conflicted. Was this all a reaction to the trauma she'd suffered (and couldn't yet remember)? She'd been stalked and drugged by a patient, she'd broken up with her boyfriend and in effect shacked up with her rescuer.

Yet again, the man proved himself adept at reading her.

"Come here," he said, tugging her down into his arms so that her head was resting on his shoulder and giving her cheek a kiss. She closed her eyes and just savored the moment; his intense body heat now welcome in the cool air of the bedroom, his sooty-sweaty scent heady and comforting.

"What are we doing?" she asked after a few minutes spent just enjoying being held by him.

"I believe it's called 'cuddling'. And then maybe some more sleeping," he said. He wasn't a liar. She knew that. But he had a tendency to tease rather than be completely candid. Typical guy. Not wanting to discuss feelings. She sighed.

"I like you, Sarah." Or maybe not. Maybe he wasn't afraid to tell her how he felt. "I like you a lot. But I know your head's probably not right yet. How could it be after everything you've gone through? We can figure things out later. For now, just know I'm here for you."

She blinked back the tears and swallowed the knot in her throat. Everyone at Chicago Med had been very concerned about her wellbeing. And yet, Jeff Clarke had been the one there for her in all the ways that really mattered. Her family was distant. Joey, concerned but not understanding. Even Dr. Charles had backed off, but that she suspected was more due to the fact that the psychiatrist thought she would respond to Jeff Clarke the best.

And god, how she had.

"Thank you, Jeff."

He was her hero. She snuggled up to him and let herself drift back to sleep.

...

TWO WEEKS LATER

There was no reason to be nervous. Things had been fine between them, even when he'd purposely pulled back. They'd had an understanding. They both needed time to settle down after the intensity of that week. See if they still felt the same after... After she was able to go back to her apartment and her work and didn't have night terrors and panic attacks. Well, he wasn't privy to whether she had night terrors anymore. Just those first few nights when she'd slept in his bed.

And that's honestly how he knew it was real, what he was feeling. Because he missed holding her in his arms. He missed breathing in the strawberry scent of her. He missed the way she lit up when he made her laugh. He missed the way she could pierce his heart with her curious gaze. Her extremely forthright attitude. The way her brow furrowed when she was deep in thought. The sound of her voice...

Jeff was done keeping his distance. Sarah seemed herself at the hospital (from what he could tell while trying to stay away). Dr. Charles had confided in him that although it would likely be long process, she was making a solid recovery.

It was time.

He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Butterflies swarmed in his stomach as he waited. It wasn't like he hadn't done this before. But it had been a long time, since Lisa, really. He and Nat had just started sleeping together. They'd skipped this phase. And maybe that should've been a signal to him that it wasn't real. But then again, given the chance, he probably would've just jumped directly into bed with Sarah, too. He sort of had... only not.

The door opened a crack, revealing one curious brown eye and then part of a smile before it closed, there was the rattle and click and then the door was flung wide open.

"Jeff." The young woman said his name with such pleasure, and such a radiant smile that about half of the worries and doubts in him evaporated. But unfortunately not all of them.

"I... uh, got you this," he said, he held out the little glass orb that had caught his eye when he'd gone into the florist's shop. Some artsy person had their quirky wares on display there.

Sarah accepted it in both hands, cradled in her palms as she held it up and looked into it. Her inquisitive brown eyes shifted upward, and she gave him one those looks again, the kind that seemed as if she were really seeing him for the first time. And he was a little bit pleased that despite feeling like she could flay him open and examine every part of his insides, he could still surprise her.

"Thank you," she said, stepping back to let him into her apartment.

He shrugged. "It seemed more like you than a bouquet of perishable flowers."

She smiled but her scrutinizing gaze never left his face. "And why is that?"

"It's cute. Looks delicate, with a complex little world inside." Her cheeks were gaining a faint pink tint but he needed to say it, needed her to know how much he liked her, respected her, _wanted_ her. "But it's actually quite resilient. I think the term is _succulent_."

She raised her eyebrows at the implication, his obvious intent. But he wasn't going to back off this time. Not anymore.

"So what's the gift for?" she asked, heading for her kitchen to set the miniature terrarium with strange little waxy plants down on her cozy little table. "Besides the fact that flowers don't seem like me?"

Nope. Don't go for the easy out. He could just say it was a 'congrats on settling back into your apartment' gift. Or a 'I'm glad you're doing better' gift. But that wasn't true. It was a gesture to show his romantic interest in her. And it was time to see if she still returned it. Because her interest had existed at one point. She'd kissed him... More than once.

"I wanted to know if you'd like to go out to dinner sometime," he said, feeling almost as nervous as when he'd asked Karen Lydell to go to the senior prom with him.

"Like a date?" she asked, giving him nothing. Damn, her unreadable expression was getting good. Except her eyes... they told it all. There was warmth and playfulness and _desire_ in the chocolate depths of her gaze as she met his eyes.

"Yes," he said. "Exactly like a date. Because I've done the 'distancing ourselves' thing but I still want to spend time with you. I still want to do this…"

He pulled her close and bent down to kiss her. He didn't have to go far because she stretched up on her tip-toes to meet him, wrapping her arms about his neck. And she was just as sweet and _succulent_ as he remembered. Like a sun-warmed strawberry.

And Sarah may have been right about his compulsion to help others, his supposed _Savior Complex_. But she was also wrong. He wasn't attracted to her _just_ because she'd needed his protection.

She was more than just a damsel in distress. This _thing_ between them was more than that.

It felt like it might just be _everything_ he'd ever wanted.

* * *

 **A/N: So, for those of you wanting a PG ending, this was it (hope it was satisfying - M-Rated is more my style, I guess).**

 **For those interested in a more smutty conclusion, that's coming up next ;-)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Thanks to all who patiently awaited for the conclusion. And especially to those who left me little notes of encouragement along the way. You guys are the best!**

 **WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MATURE SUBJECT MATTER AND IS NOT SUITABLE FOR YOUNGER AUDIENCES. (I will be upping the rating for this fic to reflect this content.)**

* * *

FOUR WEEKS LATER...

Nimble, slender little fingers fluttered over Jeff Clarke's bare skin, down his chest and stomach, along the waistband of his flannel bottoms.

"How's your hip?"

"Ouch," he said, and she hastily pulled her hand away.

"I'm sorry." Sarah's brown eyes widened with alarm. "Did I hurt you?"

Jeff chuckled, taking her hand and placing it back on his hip, pulling her down to lie partially on top of him again, placing a quick kiss on her sweet lips.

"Not physically. But you make me sound like an old man," he said. "Bad hip, bad back, grey hair... The other med students all call me 'Pops'..."

"I'm not indulging your Pity Party," she said, brushing a hand over the silver hair along his temples, the sprigs of it at his forehead. His hair was sort of more grey than brown anyway but the lighter grey showed. He was vain enough to notice, but not vain enough to try to hide it. Not to mention it also peppered his five-o'clock shadow, even the hair on his chest and...elsewhere. She kissed his grey-stubbled jaw. "You know I think it's sexy as hell."

"What's the technical psychiatric term for that?" He grabbed her, pulling her body down flush to his, making her laugh as he nuzzled the ticklish spot on her neck, about an inch below her ear. "Grandpa Fetish?"

"Ew! No," she protested, pushing at his chest to get away from the tickling of his nose and prickly unshaven chin against her skin. He let her go, loving how she always took a moment to stare into his eyes, directly into him, before she got seriously amorous with him. She propped herself up with her arms crossed on his chest and looked into his soul.

"Is this an issue for you, our age difference?" she asked. Her face was carefully schooled but her eyes gave everything away. Jesus, she really did like him. A lot.

"Maybe for everyone around us," he said, holding the intensity of her brown gaze. "But not for me." He smiled at her. "I just like to tease, you know."

She smiled back.

"I know." And then she was kissing a line down his chest and stomach, tracing the invading silver, her nimble, slender little fingers fluttering to the waistband of his pants again. "But it's my turn to tease."

She tugged his pants down exposing the hip she'd been worried about, with the neat white patch of gauze taped to the skin. It wasn't strictly necessary anymore, but it kept the rough fabric of his jeans from rubbing against the tender scar tissue.

"May I?" She looked up, her curly hair wild and buoyant about her pretty face. God, she was pretty. Especially from this angle, especially when his body was already anticipating what she was going to do to him, knew how she could make him feel, craved it.

"Please do, doctor," he said, making her blush as if it were a kinky game and not just the fact of the situation. She was a doctor. He'd been injured. Bullet removed from his hip, hairline fracture to his pelvis.

She removed the bandage, ran her finger over the puckered scar tissue, followed it with her soft lips. And then she pressed her thumb into it and the surrounding flesh, making him jerk and hiss.

She kissed it again.

"You're still not healed enough," she said, but there was more mischievousness than disappointment in her eyes. They hadn't done the full deed yet, but he by no means considered their four week old relationship unconsummated, or frustrated for that matter. They made out a lot, and touched and... used their mouths on one another but she'd imposed a ban on pelvic action until she deemed him in full health.

"What's the prescription, then, doctor?" He couldn't resist teasing her for some reason. Maybe it was because she was so fucking cute when she got all flustered. Or that he loved her laugh, especially when it was a reluctant giggle like it was now.

"Rest and relaxation," she announced in her authoritative medical professional tone. And then she was kissing a line from the scar on his hip inward, tugging his flannel bottoms down his thighs.

He tangled his fingers in the blankets, getting a good hold to anchor himself. Because he knew what that mouth of hers could do. And he also knew what she needed in order to give him what he desired. And she didn't like to be taken in that way. She liked to give at her own discretion. And oh, how she could _give_. It was well worth keeping his hands to himself while she did her thing.

"Strawberry, wait a second," He used his pet name for her when he could manage to breathe again. The first touch of her tongue to his sensitive flesh always took his breath away. She paused, shifting slightly and sweeping her hair back to look at him, a little bit puzzled by his request for her to stop. "Do something for me?"

She raised her eyebrows in disbelief. Really? Wasn't she already doing something for him? He chuckled and smiled at her.

"Do something more for me?" She gave him a fake 'put upon' look. "Tie your hair back. I want to see your face."

She turned a little pink but climbed off the bed and went for a hairband sitting on the nightstand.

"So you like to watch?" Her eyes were both teasing and scrutinizing. He'd realized very early on that she would never stop thinking or analyzing, even in the throes of passion. And she'd never stop dissecting him. He'd always been sort of closed off for the most part, but Jeff found himself quite enjoying her intense interest in him, in who he was, his thoughts and feelings.

"It's half the fun," he said, propping himself up on a couple pillows so he could get a really good view as she mounted the bed and proceeded to swallow him whole.

...

TWO WEEKS LATER...

The wine was sweet. And her lips were tingling. Sarah Reese opted to waken them back up by climbing into Jeff Clarke's lap and kissing him soundly on his own wine-stained lips. His hands immediately flew to her body, one anchoring the back of her head and neck as he deepened their embrace. The other roamed over her back, sliding up and down her spine, stroking her as if he was petting a large cat. And maybe she did purr. Or whatever the human equivalent was.

The man was just so _good_ at touching her, kissing her. He'd likely be just as skillful at fucking her. No. _Making love_ to her. It would be that for her. And she suspected for him, too.

She'd so been looking forward to this evening. They'd messed around a hell of a lot over the past month. They'd been waiting yet not really waiting at all. They'd wound up making out quite heavily, including some solid first and second base action, after their first official "date". Things had only intensified from there. It was interesting how the man could be simultaneously aggressive and respectful as far as amorous encounters were concerned.

Right now, she was straddling his lap as he sat on her couch, but he was the one controlling the kiss, manipulating her body into just the state he wanted her. He'd kiss her, and touch her, his hands now cupping and squeezing her ass, get her extremely stirred up, but he wouldn't push it to the next level. He'd wait for her to grind against him or reach for the hem of his shirt (or her own). Even when he obviously wanted nothing more than to take her, all of her, he only ever followed her cues.

She ran her hands down his chest and stomach, began unbuttoning the dress shirt he'd put on for her. (It was a special occasion, after all. Although she wouldn't have cared what he was wearing, the ultimate goal being to get him naked and have her way with him.)

He stole a few more quick kisses from her lips before he began attacking her dress as well, sliding the straps off her shoulders and down her arms, tugging the bodice down, exposing her naked breasts. She hadn't bothered with a bra, knowing his fascination when her pert nipples showed through her sleep shirts and camisoles when she dressed like she wasn't leaving the house that day. She had, however, worn the purple lacy thong that seemed to render him entirely speechless, and instantly aroused.

Not that it was necessary tonight. She could already feel the hard bulge in his pants between her thighs as he bent to nip at and lave her breasts. She wasn't particularly large in that department and he on occasion had managed to suck nearly half of one of a fleshy mound into his mouth. It had been a little startling and uncomfortable, but also sent jolts of her pleasure straight to the core of her. He didn't appear quite so voracious for her breasts tonight, simply nibbling at the hard buds of her nipples, making her arch her back and dig her fingers into his shoulders, whimpering.

He broke off, claimed her mouth once more, kissed her until she felt like she might be drowning, suffocating, but not caring. There were worse ways to die than being kissed into oblivion in this man's arms.

Ultimately, it was the desire to possess more of him that caused her to break the embrace, rather than the urgent need for oxygen. She went for his neck, kissed a trail partway down his chest, discovered that sitting on her couch wasn't the ideal position for this and extricated herself from his lap.

He growled in protest, reaching for her, but she took a step back. His steel-colored eyes were dark with lust but also held that playful glint the man often possessed. He leaned forward, trying to snag her again, but she hopped back another step and began to peel the clingy jersey sheath dress off the rest of her body, letting it fall to the floor, stepping out of it and continuing to stand beyond his reach, watching with satisfaction and a little smugness as his gaze dropped to the purple-lace thong barely covering the small strip of hair she hadn't had waxed off. (It was a special occasion, after all. Although he probably wouldn't have cared what state her nethers were in, the ultimate goal just being to get her naked and have his way with her.)

"I think it's time we take this to the bedroom," she said. He was jumping off the couch and on her before she could offer him a hand up. Somehow, his kisses were even more urgent as his hands found her waist and lifted her up. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. But maybe this wasn't the wisest move. She didn't want to break him before she'd fully enjoyed him.

"Should you be picking me up like this?" she asked, having to turn her head away to deter his tongue from silencing her mouth.

"It's hardly heavy lifting," he replied, cupping her ass and carrying her into the bedroom. "But if you insist..."

He tossed her on the bed, and before she'd even stopped bouncing on the mattress from the impact, he was going for the purple lace thong, raking it off her hips and down her legs and then he was parting her thighs and -oh, fuck, why was he so goddamned good at _that_?

Whereas he'd always brought her to climax before with the attentions of his mouth, he stopped this time just shy of getting her off, leaving her wound up tight and humming everywhere and sopping wet.

"Jeff..." she moaned his name in frustration as he paused to discard his clothing, returning to her completely naked, aroused and the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

"You're not going to come until I'm inside of you," he said, explaining why he'd cut his attentions short.

Her body seemed to agree, desire coiling even tighter deep in her belly, her skin tingling and sensitive. Because she'd been anticipating this, wanting this for what seemed an eternity now. It had only been what, a month and a half? And they'd had plenty of fun and physical intimacy. But still, she wanted him inside of her. She wanted to possess and claim him in that primal way. She'd tried to not let her anticipation get out of control. But they'd prepared for this, done the good responsible couple thing; testing for STDs and she'd gone on birth control. They'd waited until he was completely healed up from the gunshot wound, until she'd rebounded mentally from being stalked and assaulted. And she wanted this so badly.

"Jeff, please..." She knew she sounded pathetic but could care less as he mounted the bed and her, engulfing her in the luscious heat of him.

...

The wine hadn't been enough to make Jeff drunk, but Sarah Reese certainly was. She was the most intoxicating, addicting, stimulating woman he'd ever had the pleasure of kissing, touching, caressing, _loving_. Currently, she was a beautiful naked, writhing, whimpering... angel? goddess? None seemed quite accurate. To him, she was Sarah. And that encompassed everything she was and everything she made him feel.

And right now, she was making him feel bliss and lust so incredibly intense... He wanted this last untasted, untested intimacy. It was the only part of her unknown to him now. And he craved that knowledge of her, of how it felt to be inside of her, how they would fit together, how she might respond, sighing or gasping or moaning like when he used his tongue or fingers on her. And he was dying to know how she liked it.

"Tell me what you want, Sarah."

She stared up at him, her brown eyes dark and bright, pupils dilated large and black. He'd never seen her so intensely aroused before. It only compounded his own pressing need.

"I want you." She slid her leg up his side, her bare thigh like silk against his skin.

He growled. Before Sarah, he never made that sound before. He was quite sure of it. Because it had surprised even him when she'd pointed it out, teasing him before drawing out more than growls from his throat.

"That's pretty clear." He grabbed her thigh, ground his hips against hers, the friction nearly unbearable. A small squeak escaped her as her fingers dug into his arms. Perhaps a preview of things to come? God, he wanted to be _inside_ of her. "But _how_ do you want me?"

"All of you," she said. Well, the feeling was mutual there. He wanted all of her, too; every cell of her body to be his. "I want you as deep inside of me as you can go."

He groaned. Sarah Reese was so fucking hot. From the very beginning, she hadn't been afraid of expressing her desires. He thought that it wasn't because she was particularly bold, but because she'd been timid in the past and she didn't want to fall into that trap with him. Honesty had been a rule she'd set out early for them, and it worked. And it was actually quite the turn-on.

Pulling away from her, he positioned himself to fulfill her request and his dire wish.

"Please don't stop if I flinch," she said, which caused him to hesitate.

"I don't want to hurt you." He wanted her badly, but not at the cost of causing her pain. He didn't want to do this if she wasn't going to enjoy herself as much as he was.

"You won't hurt me, Jeff. It's just been a while." Had she not been intimate with Joey? Not that that was really any of his business. Not that he really cared at this moment.

She smiled at him as she touched his face, caressing his cheek, looking at him with affection. "Kiss me."

He obliged, the sweetness of her mouth, the sinful talent of her tongue doing things to his stirring up his arousal to nearly a throbbing ache once more.

"Now, fill me." She locked her dark eyes on him, rendered almost predatory with large dilated pupils. Yes, she was definitely just as hungry for him as he was for her. And he wasn't entirely sure who was in the dominant position even though his body was hovering over hers. "Fill me deep."

Jeff Clarke, former marine, knew how to follow orders. The satiny flesh between her thighs was rather damp (Sarah always got quite wet for him with the right sort of coaxing). But he still went for some extra lubricant because he really, really didn't want to hurt her while also wanting to give her precisely what she wanted.

Yet, he did have to push a little to sink himself deep into the wet heat of her. Her body felt tight and she did flinch, forcing him to grab a hold of her hip with one hand but she encouraged him with breathless, husky, dirty utterances until he bottomed out. And fuck, they fit together so perfectly. Her body had taken nearly all of him into that wet, silken flesh of hers. Warm and snug and _perfect_.

He shifted his weight forward and her legs came up to wrap around his waist, embracing him.

"Remember to breathe, Strawberry." She gasped and he swooped in to kiss the moan off her lips, swallowing her pleasure. He found her hands, entwined his fingers with hers, pinned them beside her head and just stared into the depths of her complex eyes. Because he knew what she liked, what she needed to truly enjoy their intimate, amorous experiences.

Her chest heaved, shuddering with uneven breaths as her insides quivered, tightening around him, fighting his invasion of her body and then finally relenting, relaxing their grip on him, stretching to allow him to sink deeper, blissfully deep. Naked flesh sliding against naked flesh.

He moaned. "You feel so good."

"Mmm... so do you, Jeff." He swore that the young woman could literally glow. And she was beginning to as she gave him a sultry look. It wasn't as vibrant as after an orgasm, but it was a clear sign she was already on her way there, just needed a little nudge. "Take me however you need to."

It wasn't as slow or gentle as he wanted their first time to be, but his control over his own body was honestly quite low as instinct and primal urges won out. But Sarah - _oh, god, Sarah_ \- she was very obviously thoroughly enjoying herself, matching his rhythm, lively and electric beneath him, her escalating arousal seeming to pour into him and compound his own, building towards a moment of pure ecstasy, a shared bliss that made his entire self hum, body and soul.

...

For some reason, the diagnostician side of Sarah's brain kicked in and tried to analyze what had just happened to her. Because it was a little beyond words to describe the emotional side. The doctor in her was insisting that she might have just died right there, her heart stopping for a moment. Or maybe it was just sensory overload resultant from a level of stimulation her nerves and brain just was not accustomed to. Not that Jeff Clarke hadn't brought her to orgasm before... But this, this she could safely say was the most intense orgasm she'd had in her life.

At first, she'd been nervous. The man always made her feel safe and protected but there was that sort of instinctive almost panic as he entered her. Because the sensation was so long-forgotten to be almost entirely foreign to her body. It had honestly been since she was an undergrad. She'd been so focused on med school, hadn't had time for dating (and she wasn't into flings or one-night-stands). As for Joey, neither of them had seemed to think anything of the slow pace they'd been taking. Probably because he didn't stir her like Jeff did. She felt more aroused just being near the older man than she'd ever felt making out with Joey.

And why was she thinking about anyone but Jeff Clarke as she lay in the afterglow of some truly fantastic sex? He was still on top of her, inside of her, panting against her neck as he came down from the climactic high. His weight was pinning her, pressing her into the mattress, but she still felt like she was floating.

"That... was... amazing." She was breathless herself. And she was honestly not even sure what he'd done to her after a certain point where he'd driven her so deep into ecstasy, she'd lost all contact with reality. It had just been him and her, and then just the pleasure, the bliss. Sort of an out-of-body experience, really.

Apparently incapable of forming words, he only groaned in response, long and low, rumbling from his chest into her breasts and deeper, touching her heart, which if she had to guess, was already in sync with his own. Maybe that's what that out-of-body sensation had been. Maybe that's why it was called La Petit Mort. Maybe that's why a person's heart skipped a beat or stopped for a split-second during climax, so that it could restart in sync with its counterpart, complete the joining with its other half.

He touched his lips to her neck in a gentle kiss, a rather chaste gesture after everything they'd just done. But not an unwelcome one. It was sweet and affectionate in a way her last sexual partner had never been after fucking her. And it softened the bereft feeling that washed over her along with the cool air as he extricated himself from her body to lay beside her. Would she never feel whole again without him lying in her arms, between her thighs, kissing her, filling her?

Was love as much that incomplete feeling when you were parted from the other half of your heart as it was the joy of being with them?

All Sarah Reese knew for certain was that she loved Jeff Clarke. This wasn't just infatuation, gratitude for his rescuing her and caring for her, or even a smitten sort of crush. Those were all part of it. But not the whole of it.

She snuggled up to his side, throwing an arm and a leg over his body that was just as damp with cooling sweat as her own. He felt quite warm, however, compared to how the air was chilling her skin. His arms wrapped about her as she nuzzled his chest and lay her head on his shoulder and she was engulfed in pure contentment. He'd brought so much to her life, had complicated her life (in a good way), adding depth and richness where she'd only had her studies, her work before.

"I love you," she said. He was silent for a moment, but it didn't hurt or worry her. Jeff Clarke never said anything he didn't mean. And he meant everything he said. So, if it took him a few minutes to figure out the truth of his heart, then that was fine by her.

"I think you might be the love of my life, Sarah."

She hadn't expected that profound of a confession from the man. She wriggled, causing him to loosen his grip so she could push herself up and stare down into his face.

"Really?" The insecurity and uncertainty and desire to believe that his confession was true was obvious in her tone, she knew. But she didn't care.

He smiled at her, cupping her face with one hand and stroking her cheek with his thumb. She instinctively leaned into the caress.

"No one has ever been as important to me as you," he said. "I've never loved anyone as much as I love you in my entire life."

His smile turned facetious. "Granted, there really was only Linda and Nat, but..."

"I know what you mean," she said. "I thought I loved someone before. But now I know it wasn't everything it should've been. It wasn't like this."

He pulled her down into a kiss. And it wasn't a lascivious one. Well, not wholly a lascivious embrace, but there was always a bit of that sexual chemistry to their touches. However, this one was mostly affection and joy.

When they broke apart she rested her forehead against his, enjoying the other sort of intimacy they shared, just being happy to be near each other.

"Thank you," she said. He'd saved her life literally and figuratively. He'd given it a meaning she'd been missing, searching for but hadn't been able to find.

"Don't thank me for loving you," he said. "You're the one who saved me, Sarah."

* * *

END

 **A/N: Well, that was a fun diversion. I hope you all enjoyed my little Clarke/Reese fantasy! Now back to writing my novels.**

 **A/N2: If you like my style of writing, you should also try my writing buddy Marjorie K Place's new Chicago Med fic,** _ **Shot Through the Heart,**_ **a Will/Natalie fic with a little hint of Clarke/Reese.**


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